Fallen from Grace
by Cr1mson5
Summary: "I'm whatever the front lines need me to be, and, right now, they don't need me to be a hero."
1. Discoveries

**I still don't own anything that belongs to DC Comics; otherwise, it wouldn't belong to DC Comics, now, would it?**

**Rated T for violence, some language, and possibly some character death later on**

**Author's Note: This is my take on what would've happened in **_**Red Robin**_** had Tim Drake really gone the way of the antihero more than he did in the later issues. I just think it was kind of weird how he was all dark and then got chipper again all of a sudden. Not that I don't like it, and I know there are explanations for it and all, but just humor me, okay? I'm trying to tell a story here.**

Five passports, from different countries, forty-six United States driver's licenses, sixteen fake IDs, thirty-two alternate license plates for his car, and a sum of nearly seven hundred disposable, untraceable cell phones, credit cards, debit cards, ATM cards, and anything else even potentially able to be tracked. That was what Cassie Sandsmark saw the first time she went down into Tim Drake's safe house.

She'd known he'd set one up in San Francisco; she'd just never bothered to check it. If Tim had something to hide, she decided, he wouldn't have constructed his base so close to the Teen Titans so as not to risk them figuring it out. Of course, he might've just gone ahead and done it anyway, given he always was the best detective on the team, but that didn't mean she wasn't a puzzle-person, too. She liked mysteries, despite what it might've seemed. And Tim was always a big mystery to her, the biggest mystery she'd ever known. In fact, if mystery had had a name, it was Timothy Jackson Drake. And going through his things, examining everything he'd stored up in his little safe house, she realized that she'd never actually, truly known him. She'd never actually known who he really was, who he'd claimed to be. It scared her, figuring out now how seemingly skilled—and experienced—he appeared to be in at least this aspect of espionage. If that was true, then how much of the Tim she'd known had been a lie, just another ploy to get closer to someone he needed to take down? That was probably the worst thought of them all, and she couldn't shake it after it was there, no matter how hard she tried to. She just…couldn't, not standing here, looking at these fake passports and identifications.

It was almost incriminating, the things Cassie was seeing there. True, she couldn't actually arrest him unless she had proof that he'd done something criminal, and even then, it wasn't technically an arrest because she wasn't part of the local law enforcement or anything, but the whole scene still made her skin crawl. This was _Tim Drake_, her _friend_, somebody she'd been _best _friends with since as far back as she could remember. She would die before she told him this, but she picked up her fearlessness and boldness from him, back in their Young Justice days. She'd looked at him like something of a role model, not because he was Robin and had always seemed so much more famous, so much _better_, somehow, than any of them, but because he was the kind of person who'd fight to stay alive until the moment he died. She'd liked that about him, and, observing him and the way he led, she came to be like that, too. Now, she couldn't believe that that boy had become…_this_. She guessed, in a sense, that it was just one more step in his fight for survival, but that didn't make it any easier to deal with.

Cassie decided she'd drive herself insane if she just stood there and stared at the driver's licenses all day, so she moved over to the computer to search through the files. Once she turned it on, the screen sprang to life, bright blue and demanding a password she couldn't give. She chewed nervously at her lower lip, thinking desperately what the password could be. She hadn't thought about that. She'd forgotten about it until that moment.

_The logical choice would be something familiar to him, something he'd remember, _she told herself. _So…let's try "Robin"._

Her fingernails clicked rapidly over the keys, only for an "access denied" message to appear before her on the screen, followed quickly by the password box yet again. She sighed, mentally scolding herself for the stupidity. _Use Tim-logic, Cassie. The first choice is _never _the right choice._ She hurriedly typed in "Jack" and received the same response as before. The last option she could think of that could work for a password was "TCCB", the initials of the first names of their foursome (Tim had always loved that abbreviation, anyway). But this time, when "access denied" materialized onscreen, red lights began to flash all around her and an alarm wailed somewhere in the building. "Intruder alert," a computerized voice announced monotonously. "Intruder alert."

Cassie panicked, quickly scooping up a few passports and fake ID's off the table before taking off toward the exit. As she flew, a pair of boots rammed her in the back, sending her down to the ground. She hit and rolled, immediately coming up on her knees, ready for a fight and reaching for her lasso, which was still coiled at her belt like always. Her hand stalled when she saw who stood before her, hands planted firmly on his hips and his black hair disheveled and hanging in his angry face. He'd grown a little since she'd seen him last, which was interesting, considering that'd only been about six months before. He'd put on a few pounds—all hard muscle, judging by the force with which he'd slammed her down—and was a couple of inches taller, too. He didn't look like he'd been out doing any hero work, since he was just in jeans, a red T-shirt, and his favorite leather jacket, but, then again, he wasn't doing much hero work anymore these days. She sat back on her haunches, licked her lips, and asked, as casually as possible, as if she hadn't just broken all the rules of his property, "Hey, Tim, what's up?"

Tim shook his head at her, obviously furious beyond words (for the moment, at least). "Intruder alert," the computer insisted. "Activating defense protocols in three…two…"

"Abort," Tim interrupted it. The alarm cut off abruptly, and the whine of the sirens went silent. He tapped his foot against the cold tile floor, shaking his head again, making no move to help Cassie off the ground or acknowledge her presence in any way beyond antagonism at that point. Staring into the once-gentle green eyes that had locked onto her face, Cassie saw they'd gone as cold and unforgiving as a winter storm, harsh and cruel and quite frankly not the eyes she'd known, not the eyes she remembered. In all the years the two had known each other, even when he refused to remove his mask around her, Tim had never looked at Cassie like that before, not until now, when she'd discovered his little pet project or whatever this was to him.

At long last, he held out his hand to her, and she thought he was trying to help her up until she realized all he wanted were the ID's. She reluctantly handed them over, and he tossed them back onto the table. When it became clear that he refused to be a gentleman, she pushed herself off the floor, brushing off her jeans with slender, graceful hands marked with calluses from handling her lasso for years. "So, you're a spy now or something?" she remarked, not meaning for it to sound as repartee as it had.

Tim ran a hand through his hair before getting right up in her face to grind out, "I thought I told you to leave me alone, Cass."

She scoffed. "You did. I just didn't think you knew what you were talking about."

Was she aware that she sounded like a jerk? Yes, she was, and she was okay with it. She wanted him to know that she wasn't very happy with what he was doing.

Tim was ruffled a little bit by her brusque response. "Okay, look, you've just broken rule number one of 'Tim's Space': stay _out _of it. Now, you want to tell me why you're breaking into my safe house, going through my stuff, and hacking my computer—sloppily, might I add?"

Cassie pushed away her discomfort with the situation and let her fury replace it for the moment, letting it driver her words and thoughts and make her into the kind of person she knew she'd have to be to get through this fight without killing him first, running away, or both. "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought you wanted me to be there for you," she said sarcastically. "My mistake, I didn't know that in 'Tim's Space', friends don't get to show concern for other friends!" She took a deep breath, collecting her composure. _Blowing up at him won't help him any, Cass. _"Tim, I just…I care about you, okay? And you've been acting really weird lately, and I just wanted to see what was wrong. I…I figured this was as safe a place to find out as any, you know?"

Tim snorted, "Didn't know you liked getting in over your head."

The caustic remark cut deep, and Cassie thought he said it like it was bound to happen, like it was just one more disadvantage of "knowing" him…like _he _would be the cause of it. She wasn't going to let that happen to them, but she didn't quite know what to say to him then to show it. So, she just stood there, silently, watching him. He seemed to have forgotten she was there, all of a sudden, and he started to rearrange his things, sliding them into drawers in the desk and file cabinets and packing some into a backpack he'd slung over his shoulder that Cassie had to wonder how she'd missed. He went to computer, but then he turned around at stared at her for a few minutes. She realized suddenly that he was going to log on, so she turned away to give him "password privacy", as he'd always called it in the Titans. She turned back around when she knew it was safe to see that he'd plugged a jump drive into the computer and was rapidly downloading all his files onto it. Word documents, Excel charts, photos, evidence, everything that he could possibly need went onto that little red flash drive. Cassie found herself shaking her head at her friend. He was acting like he was going to be doing something top-secret but totally important, something she wasn't privy to. No, it was worse.

He acted like he was on the run.

"Tim, talk to me," she coaxed. "What happened to you? Let me help."

Tim looked back at her over his shoulder, not stopping the transfer of files to the drive. "You know how you told me that, someday, all that brooding was going to come back to bite me in the butt?"

Cassie nodded, remembering the joke. Apparently, it wasn't such a joke to him.

"Well, this is me, biting back. Now, if you'll excuse me…" Before she knew it, he was stuffing the flash drive into his pocket, slinging his backpack back over his shoulder, and stalking toward the door. "I've got some keeping up to do."


	2. Club Scene

I know Cassie was only trying to help me. They all were. But I didn't need their help…not with what I had to do, anyway. Besides, if I'd let them help, they would've just had me either arrested or committed, and I really didn't feel like dealing with setbacks.

And, yes, I do consider jail and the mental hospital both to be setbacks only.

The Titans didn't understand what I had on my plate nowadays, just like Dick didn't understand, either. It didn't seem to matter how much news coverage they saw of unexplained happenings, unexplained _criminal _happenings, because they all just shook it off and insisted that it "wasn't me" and that I'd never do "those horrible things." Thinking about it on my way to the club, I wanted to smack my head against a wall. What would it take to make them see it? "Robin" had been a hero. "Red Robin" was far from it. And Tim Drake was just the guy they both needed to look like to get into places like this.

It was a pretty well-known fact among the underworld frequenters that Cassius Macbeth had practically converted the Sun Lounge Club into his own personal hangout within a few days. He wanted people to think that he was an up-and-coming mob boss, drug dealer, and all-around despicable guy, but really, he was just paid up with the right people through his dear old daddy, Lukas. He was a spoiled brat who fancied himself the toughest guy in town, and I have very little patience with little kids who think they're all that. But, dislike it as I may have (and I did), Cassius was the only person who would consider a deal with an out-of-towner. And he was absolutely the guy with all the connections I needed to get my job done.

I parked my motorcycle behind a restaurant that was sufficiently out of the way of Sun Lounge around six o'clock and just wandered around town while I waited for the club to start getting packed. I passed the doors probably ten, eleven times, and each time I walked by, the line to get in got longer and the music seemed to get louder. When I finally saw an opening, when things were at their busiest, I decided it was time to move. I walked around back, through the alleyway, and found my window—literally. I'd planned it out before I even called about the deal, so everything would be squared away when I arrived and I wouldn't have to worry about loose ends. I'd even come by earlier that day and removed the screws from the windowpane so I could get in easily. So, without waiting to see if anybody had followed me or was watching me at all, I climbed up onto the dumpster, pulled away the unfastened windowpane, and hoisted myself into the Sun Lounge men's room.

The door opened as I was repositioning the pane on the window, and I ducked into a stall as a bouncer sauntered in. Lukas Macbeth wasn't stupid. He knew somebody could get to him through Cassius, so he employed the best men to guard Cassius' club. They could remember faces almost as well as Batman could, as well as I could. If I got spotted by a bouncer or an usher, they'd know I hadn't been in line to get in. And then, if I didn't end up with a .45 round in my skull, I'd end up having to complete this end of it on my own, and I didn't like that scenario. No, much better to talk with Cassius than punch in his bodyguard's face.

I checked my watch in the stall: midnight. _Perfect timing, _I thought. _Little Cassie's here by now, I'm sure. _I waited until a full minute after I heard the bouncer leave before I followed.

I emerged into a world of brightly colored strobe lights, blaring, upbeat music, and somewhat-rhythmically-moving bodies in their best dance wear crowded on a sparkling floor. The bass beat of the song pounded so hard that I could feel it in the soles of my shoes as I walked, and the whole place smelled like expensive perfume, cheap wine, and drugs. This place, whatever illusions of the rich and famous it may have given to an outsider, was really just a haven for the scum of society. Infer what you like about the fact that I didn't feel too out-of-place there. I prefer to think it was just because the clubs in Gotham made this place look like kindergarten, and I should know, the number of times Bruce and I went on busts in those places.

A faint feeling of sadness and—was that remorse?—welled up in me, but I pushed it back down. I couldn't afford to lose my head, not here. I needed to keep my cool.

Cassius had gotten in touch with me through some of his most trustworthy lieutenants. He and I had arranged the meeting through a video conference on our computers, so I recognized him to be the young man surrounded by guards in suits and shades. He looked oddly like he had two nights before, dressed in the same rumpled red suit with his dark hair hanging in the same unkempt style over his pale face, so I had to wonder if he'd even bothered to shower at all before coming to meet me. He thought I was looking for a job with his gang, thought I was looking for a friendly face in a new town to help guide me into my own business.

Funny how easily a guy like me can fool a criminal, isn't it?

I approached cautiously, letting my face assume an expression of obviously suppressed excitement. One of Cassius' guards nudged him and whispered something into his ear. Cassius had been so busy wooing a pretty blonde girl in a skimpy dress that he hadn't seen me come up, but his face changed when the guard informed him of my presence. He said something to the girl (reading his lips, it was, "I'll call you later.") and then turned around to face me, grinning widely. "Well, well, if it isn't Jack Thomas," he greeted me congenially. "Hello, there. I was starting to think you wouldn't show up. Gentlemen, please let Mr. Thomas into the booth. He's a friend." His guards obediently slid out of the rounded booth and stood aside, giving me space to get into a seat.

I climbed into the booth with the same anxiousness that a kid on his first day of school has. Acting, of course, but I had to sell the part. Cassius shook my hand. "Let me just say what an honor it is, Mr. Macbeth—" I began.

"Oh, Jack, _'Mr. Macbeth' _is my father," Cassius cut me off with a wave of his free hand. "Please, call me Cassius."

"_Cassius," _I corrected myself. "Let me just say what an honor it is to be here tonight. I mean, you're, like, the big leagues, and I'm just starting out. I seriously didn't expect to be able to meet with you, like, _ever_."

Cassius laughed. "Well, I'm always willing to help out somebody I think has potential to go far in this business." A serving girl came by with a tray full of wineglasses and cans of beer. He pointed to the drinks. "Do you want one?"

Drinking was not on my list of things to do that night, and I really didn't want to get too many bad habits started all at once. Plus, if I got caught, I could get arrested for underage drinking, and that would be a major setback in my plans. Besides, if I didn't take the drink, what were the chances somebody would pick up on the true nature of the meeting? I mean, Cassius wasn't really the brightest crayon in the box, but his guards were trained to protect him from people ranging in true identities from undercover cops to federal agents. I had the feeling that these guys knew the warning signs of people who weren't who they said they were, and they'd catch on real fast. So, I had no choice but to take the glass of champagne Cassius offered me with a mumbled "thank you". And don't think I didn't catch the wink and sultry grin he flashed at the serving girl as she walked by. _Womanizer, _I thought in disgust. _Don't let it get to you, Drake._

Cassius held his glass up to mine. "I propose a toast," he announced, "to the start of a beautiful friendship."

I toasted him, reminding myself to keep up the image, and took a small sip of the champagne. Right then and there, I resolved that, the second I hit twenty-one, if Dick threw me a drinking party, I'd kill him. Alcohol + one very upset ex-Robin = one of the worst ideas ever conceived in the human brain. But, hey, you've gotta do what you've gotta do, right?

"So," Cassius was saying when I started paying attention again. "You've come here to negotiate a deal, have you?"

"Something kind of like that," I admitted, and it wasn't a total lie. _Not yet, anyway._

"What do you mean?"

I shrugged. "Well, Cassius, I must confess that, uh…I don't really have much of an interest in selling drugs."

"No?" I shook my head. "Well, we can hook you up with some other business, if you want. What do you like: guns, money…girls?"

I suppressed a shudder. "No…more like criminals."

Cassius narrowed his eyes at me in suspicion. "What are you talking about, Jack? You're not making any sense."

"See, I'm here to give you a bit of a fair warning. There are people out there, dangerous people, who think of you like something of an opportunity, or maybe a doorway to get through to the bigger fish in the sea."

"So, are you one of them or something?"

"Maybe, maybe not, the important thing is that you realize what impact your irresponsibility has on the world."

Cassius started to look worried, and rightly so, because I could tell that he sensed what was coming next. "So, what, are you telling me that they think I'm some kind of a problem or something?"

I sat forward, chuckling. "No, Cassius, you're not a problem…you're an errand."

In one swift move, I'd toppled the table over onto him and three of his men. The one sitting right next to me whipped out his gun, and I grabbed his wrist and slammed the pistol up into his nose, knocking him cold. I kicked him backward into another guard, and they both fell to the ground, one pinned under the other's weight. A groin hit combined with an elbow to the jaw made quick work of the last guard. I stood on the table, making sure I was on Cassius' gut and staring straight down at him. "You call that security, Cassius?" I sneered. "That's pathetic! You might want to make sure you get some guards who actually know what they're doing next time."

"What do you want from me?" Cassius demanded hysterically.

"Your father, where is he?"

A gunshot rang out, and a bullet sliced through my shoulder. I cried out, clutching at the wound. The guard who'd shot me—evidently the one I'd hit with his buddy—wrapped his arms around me from behind, trying to hold me still. I threw my head back, hitting him squarely in the nose, and it stunned him enough that he let go of me. An elbow to the gut doubled him over, and a forceful uppercut to the jaw knocked him out. I didn't bother going easy on the next two guards that came after me. Hey, I was upset. This wasn't going as quickly as I thought it would or as quickly as I needed it to. When I'm mad, I don't hold back, and those poor fellows felt every ounce of the sheer momentum with which my knuckles connected with their faces. If they didn't come out of that with a few bruises, I'd be surprised.

I turned back to Cassius, leaning even more of my weight onto the table. It pressed down harder into him, making him wheeze and whine. "Get a grip," I snapped. "Now, tell me what I want to know. Where's your father?"

"I—I don't know," he stammered.

I poured on another pound or two of pressure. Cassius gave a rasping cough and gasped out, "L-Los Angeles…he's in Los Angeles! _Please_, don't hurt me!"

I stepped back off the table, noting that, even though the music was still pumping, nobody was dancing. In fact, several people were grabbing their dates and running out of the club, while the rest, including the DJ, stood by and stared at us. I shook my head at the mobster's boy, disappointed for reasons that even I wasn't sure of. "What would I get out of hurting you?" I asked softly, too softly to be heard over the thumping bass. Then, I turned on my heel and stalked back to the men's room. I figured that it was only a matter of time until Cassius' other guards, or, worse, the cops, showed up, so I didn't have much time to take being smooth about it. So, once inside the restroom, I scaled up the wall, punched out the loose windowpane, and slid through to the other side, landing in a sprawl on the dumpster. _Hurry, hurry, hurry, _I thought frantically, scrambling off the dumpster and running to my motorcycle. A wall of guards burst from the back door as I was getting on my helmet. I started up my bike and, without warning, plowed through them going sixty miles an hour and raced off into the city, hoping and praying that they weren't planning to follow me.


	3. Not an Option

I made it to my safe house confident that nobody had tailed me there—at least, for the moment, anyway. By the time I got inside, my jacket and shirt were wet and sticky with blood from the wound in my shoulder. I managed to get over to my little makeshift medical bay before collapsing into a chair. Tentatively, I peeled the leather and cloth back to reveal a nasty-looking hole in the skin that I think even went through some muscle, and it was leaking crimson fluid all over everything.

"Damn it," I muttered, disentangling myself lopsidedly from my shirt and jacket. I hate getting shot, not only because it hurts, but also because it's hard to clean up, especially without Alfred there. Not to sound like a spoiled brat who never does anything for himself or whatever, but Alfred was always the one who patched me up after a run like that, and I'd never really gotten around to asking him for lessons in stitching myself up. Plus, even better, I discovered that I had a maddeningly low tolerance of alcohol. A pounding started up in my head that I decided was one of two things: the usual stress migraine or an aftereffect of the teensy sip of champagne I consumed at the club. Despite the likelihood of the first, I figured it was probably much more of the second option.

I figured out pretty early on that I was sorely lacking in proper medical supplies for the task at hand. All I had to sew myself up with was a needle for cloth and some thicker thread that I'm pretty sure is only supposed to be used for torn capes and _not _torn skin. But, hey, what the hell, right? It sealed the wound pretty well, even if it wasn't Alfred's gold-standard doctoring job. So long as I'm not bleeding, I'm okay.

As I was weaving the needle in and out of the skin around the wound (and yes, it really was as painful as it sounds), my cell phone rang, my real phone, the one I hardly ever used outside one of my private bases. I didn't even need to glance at it to know who was calling: Dick. Some part of me questioned why I still kept that thing if I knew he'd be calling it all day long. I guess it was really just to hold onto that one little bit of the old life that was still intact, the one piece of me that I still had leftover from who I was, who I used to be. It was stupid of me, I know, especially since I was pretty blatantly trying to fling aside every last remnant of that me. But I still kept the phone, just in case I ever decided I needed somebody to talk to.

When I got sick of hearing the ringtone repeating itself over and over again, I snatched the phone off the computer terminal and pressed the green button that appeared on the touch screen before holding it up to my ear and snapping, "What?"

"_Somebody's irritable today."_

I rolled my eyes, heaving a sigh. "What do you want, Dick?"

"_I just wanted to make sure you were…okay. You know…after you kind of stormed out on us all, I just…I wanted to make sure you weren't going to go off and get yourself killed."_

It took me a minute to realize that the harsh, hollow laughter I heard after he said that was my own. "A little bit late for that," I told him, and the words were pinched by the sting of the needle and thread tugging the ragged, ripped skin back together haphazardly.

Dick, being Batman, picked up on it immediately, even though I prayed he wouldn't. _"Tim, where are you? What's going on?" _he demanded, slipping into his Batman voice. _"You sound like you're in pain."_

I'm sure the slip was involuntary, but it upset me all the same. My eyes narrowed, and I found myself glaring at the computer terminal. "I'm fine," I insisted brusquely. "Now, was there a point to this call? I think I might've missed it."

Dick was taken aback by that. I could tell by the silence on the other end that lasted for more than four seconds. Finally, he continued, hesitantly, _"I'm worried about you, little brother. Why won't you just stop this wild goose chase and get back to your hometown, where you belong?"_

"I can't." And I meant that.

"_Yes, you can. Stop running. You're just going to get yourself hurt even worse than you probably already are."_

"I doubt that." I pressed the phone between my ear and shoulder to hold it in place while I worked on tying a knot in the thread to keep the stitches from undoing themselves. He was really blowing this all out of proportion. He acted like I hadn't been seen in years. I'd only been gone about six or seven months or so. He needed to just let it go…didn't he?

"_C'mon, Tim, talk to me. Why won't you just come back home to Gotham? I mean, if you're scared or in trouble or something, I'm sure it's not so bad that we can't protect you here."_

That set me off. "Okay, Dick, couple of things: One—I don't need you to protect me, or save me, or do any of that crap, because I'm more than capable of doing that myself. And two—if I'd done _anything_ worth forgiving, don't you think I would've already come back by now?"

I heard the frustrated exhalation through the phone, and Dick protested, as if trying to explain something very simple to a small child incapable of understanding it, _"You're not a criminal."_

"That's what you think."

There was another, longer, pause.

"I've done things out here that you can never know about, Dick, because if I told you, it'd just put you guys in that much more danger. I have to do what I have to do right now because that's the only way I'll survive and get my mission accomplished. Maybe I'm wrong, but I can't really afford to care about that. You want me to come home, Dick, but I _am_ home. The road is my home now. The world's a mean place, and you and I both know that. Batman, of all people, should realize that, sometimes, you have to get mean to straighten things out."

"_Tim…you don't have to do anything illegal, if that's what you're saying you've done. I _know_ you. You're a good person."_

I shook my head. "I'm whatever the front line needs me to be, and right now, they don't need me to be a hero."

"_What's that supposed to mean?"_

"It means that when I told you people to leave me alone, it was not an option. Now, I'm going to hang up, and I swear that if you track me down after I get off this phone and try to take me back home, I _will_ hurt you. I'm not afraid to."

"_I think that's the problem."_

I swallowed the response I wanted to give, said, "Goodbye, Dick," and hung up the phone.

Almost immediately afterwards, I wanted to start kicking myself. _Stupid, stupid, stupid, _I thought. _He's the frickin' _Batman_. Duh, he's going to track you down! What the hell were you _thinking_, answering that call? So…freaking…stupid!_ I dug the heels of my hands into my eyes, unconsciously trying to bore out the images filling my mind of what would happen if Dick traced the call, found my safe house. No doubt he'd bring backup, give the excuse that I wasn't in my right mind to justify the firepower he'd bring in. They'd know I wouldn't come along willingly. Maybe they'd restrain me, maybe they'd tranquilize me, or maybe they'd just hit me until I went numb and couldn't fight back. They'd take me back to Gotham, I knew. They'd probably admit me to Arkham Asylum for psychiatric help.

But I didn't need their help.

I sucked in a deep breath and straightened up in my seat. I couldn't stay here much longer. I'd already downloaded all my files to my flash drive, and I just needed to pack up the stuff I'd require for the job and head out. Couldn't even say goodbye to my friends, I figured. It'd be too risky.

Dick didn't understand. None of them did. I was only doing what I had to do. I was only doing everything that there was left for me to do.

As crazy as it sounds, I was just trying to help them.


	4. Breaking Off

Bart knew he was taking a chance, invading Tim's space at such a tense time. He remembered what Cassie had said she'd seen there, the way he'd treated her. Bart knew he was likely to get the same, if not worse, from the ex-Boy Wonder. But he _had_ to see his friend. He _had_ to know that he wasn't totally insane, that he wasn't going to go off on some crazy one-kid crusade and get himself killed before his eighteenth birthday. Seventeen, in Bart's mind, was way too young to die.

Then, thinking of that, he had to stop and remind himself that sixteen was, too.

He carefully stepped through the door to see Tim rushing around the room, locking things away in cabinets and drawers and stuffing things into a backpack that looked like it'd been dragged across many a rough street for years. One earphone from his iPod was in his ear, probably to relax him. Bart could recollect a few particularly frantic days around Titans Tower when Tim would walk around every waking moment with that iPod blaring in his ears to block out the noise and the stress. It didn't seem to be working much today, though. Tim's expression was panicky, frantic, as if he was in a hurry to get something urgent done. Bart just stood by, seemingly unnoticed, leaning against the far wall with folded arms and watching his friend go about his work. He wasn't sure of what to do or say to get his attention, or even that his reaction would be a positive one, and he didn't want to risk the repercussions of invading Tim's privacy.

Tim was at the computer terminal now, sitting on the arm of the chair and staring intently up at the screen as he typed away on the keyboard. Without diverting his gaze, he called out, "What's the first thing that comes to mind when somebody says 'Los Angeles' to you, Bart?"

Startled, the young speedster straightened and uncrossed his arms. _How'd he know? Oh, wait—he's a Bat. Right, Bart, right. _"Um…Hollywood, I guess?" Bart replied uncertainly.

Without turning around, Tim nodded. "That's what I figured. It's what most people think. Me, though, I think…" He sighed heavily. "I think of gangbangers, crime, and a whole lot of dirt to clean up, one way or another."

Bart didn't have to be looking at Tim to know he was rubbing the scar across the bridge of his nose, the one he was always picking at. He remembered the story behind it, the one Tim told him in Young Justice. He'd said: "I got sloppy one night, somebody slashed a line, and, well, bloody noses ensued on both sides." He also remembered watching Tim around the tower, seeing how he'd rub the scar when he was nervous, or thinking, or in a state of…strong emotion. This time, though, he could tell that Tim was rubbing the scar slowly, not really out of frustration as much as exhaustion. His voice was gravelly, strained, the aftermath of more than a few nights spent awake and on the streets. He was a tiny bit sluggish, not enough that any normal person could tell, but Bart, thankfully, wasn't a normal person. He was used to other people seeming like snails or real-life slow-motion shots, but this? This was just _sad_. He could see how lethargically reduced Tim's reactions were, something he'd hardly ever been able to do before. It alarmed him. It made him wonder what Tim was doing that was so important that he'd skip out on the small amount of sleep he usually got.

He decided to take a chance. He swallowed, took a breath, and asked, "Are you going to Hollywood, Tim?"

Tim whipped his head around, wide awake now. "I didn't say that."

Bart had to fight the urge to wince. _Nice move. You've ticked him off._ "Look, if you're worried about me telling somebody—"

"You won't. I know." Tim heaved another sigh, hanging his head. "That's what everyone says."

"What do you mean?"

Tim actually turned to face Bart this time, swiveling the chair around as he spoke. "They all think I need their protection. They think I need to be rescued. But I _don't_, not this time. I can take care of myself; I just need them all to get off my back and let me prove it." He tucked his thumbs into his pockets. "Besides, if they keep me, they won't be doing themselves any good."

"But it doesn't do _you_ any good to have them all fighting against you," Bart pointed out.

He'd expected Tim to see reason. He'd expected him to agree. But all his friend did was shrug, half-heartedly, as if caught up in a conversation he'd had too many times to care about or even show any real feeling at all about anymore, and Bart had a scary impulse that it was an accurate description. "It'll do more good than you think. Believe me; enemies are not nearly as much of a distraction as allies. They can be…skirted around."

Something inside Bart stung at that. "Are you saying that friends are a waste of time or something?"

"No, they're just a lot harder to please. It's easy to give an opponent what they want. Just punch them in the face, and they're satisfied that they got to fight you. But a friend has expectations, has standards that they hold you to, and they get disappointed when you don't live up to their image."

Tim was looking down now, not really at anything in particular except maybe the smudges on his shoes that seemed pretty new, but even without being able to see all of his face, Bart could still see the look in his eyes. It was a kind of bitter sadness, a furious regret that was terrifyingly palpable and definable. He knew that, whatever Tim had been through here lately, it had changed him. This was very plainly not the same person he'd met back at the start of Young Justice. That person had been bright, cheerful, and jovial. This person was…something else.

Bart gulped down his nervousness and replied to his friend's explanation, "You—you know that nobody thinks any less of you just because you got a little upset for a while. You didn't tarnish your reputation or anything. It's nothing that can't be fixed. And you'll always have me to turn to when you need a hand."

"That's the problem," Tim sighed. "It's why I wish you hadn't come here."

"What do you mean, 'That's the problem'?"

The other young man ran a hand through his wind-tossed black hair and clarified, "Bart, I need you to do me a favor."

"Okay, sure, what do you need?"

"I need to break off relations with the Teen Titans." He didn't wait for Bart to pick his jaw up off the floor before continuing. "Things are about to get dicey, and I'd prefer not to drag all of you into my, uh…_drastically expanded_ world. You guys have got enough on your plates to deal with already, and if I add to it, you'll just get stretched even thinner. Tell Wonder Girl. Tell Superboy and Beast Boy and Raven. Hell, you can even tell Ravager, if you want, if she's still on the team. Just make sure they know that we can't really associate too much anymore." With that, he pushed off from the chair and stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Goodbye, Bart. I guess I won't be seeing you for a long time." He started to walk away.

"If there's anything I can do," Bart called out, making Tim stop in his tracks. "If there's anything I can do, just tell me, okay?"

Tim was silent for a long time. Then, he let out a deep breath. "I wish I could," he answered over his shoulder, and it sounded sincere, honest. "But I can't. Just deliver the message."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Bart alone in the now-empty safe house to ponder the conversation, if it could be called that at all. It took him a while before he worked up the willpower to walk away.


	5. Hollywood Bound

It really wasn't too long of a drive from San Francisco to Los Angeles. I'd decided that it'd be best to leave the motorcycle at the safe house, since all the guys who'd been after me at the club had seen what I was riding, and took one of my cars. (It was actually Bruce's car, but he'd given it to me to clear up space in the manor's garage. I didn't complain, seeing as I could use it.) On the way, I fished a disposable cell phone out of my backpack and dialed one of the only numbers I bothered to call anymore.

"_What's up?"_

The voice was female, contralto, Australian-accented, but recognizable. Also recognizable was the conspicuous rasp, an aftereffect of almost losing her entire larynx, and the trademark sound of a gun cocking in the background. "Pru, it's Tim," I reported.

She spat something out of her mouth and made a noise that was something close to a chuckle. _"Good to hear from you, Boss. Thanks for ditching me with that little brat, Robin, by the way. Real sweet kid, that one, and Batman's not much better. _Such_ great company you keep!"_

"I take it you're a little upset." I could hear the smugness in my own voice, and I knew she would. And she did. I could practically see the smoke streaming from her ears, could practically hear the obscene names she was most likely calling me in her mind. But she kept her composure—mostly.

"_You frickin' _think_, you little—"_

"Hey, so, you know how I asked you to lay low in Cali?" I interrupted, hoping to deter a fit of rage.

Pru paused, caught off-guard for a moment, and then turned all business. _"Yeah, are you switching the spot already?"_

"No, no, just…I need you to meet me so we can figure something out. I've got a lead on a target, and I think it'll really do some good for us. Rendezvous at L.A. Café, 639 S. Spring St. Order a coffee or something. I'll be there soon enough."

I hung up and started on my loop around the city, familiarizing myself with the layout of the streets and buildings. I drank in all my surroundings: every sign, every streetlight, every crosswalk and corner. Every last detail was mentally photographed and filed away for later use. A bit meticulous, I know. But I couldn't afford to _not_ be able to navigate Los Angeles, not at a time like this. I'd need every bit of a semblance of expertise that I could scrape up.

It was another forty-five minutes or so before I finally got around to the L.A. Café. I parked about four blocks down and walked back up, dumping the cell phone I'd used into the pot of a plant as I went. The orange glow of sunset tinged the city warm colors as it neared dusk, the whoosh of cars rushing by on the streets somewhat muted by the general noise of people mingling and conversing as they strolled down the sidewalk. At one of the tables outside L.A. Café sat a young woman. She had ivory skin and blue eyes, with plump, full lips and a heart-shaped face. She was strangely attractive for a person who had to be either punk or out of their mind. Her head was shaved perfectly bald, her makeup was applied thickly and darkly over her eyelids, and long metal crosses dangled from her pierced earlobes. She hugged a spiked leather jacket around her shoulders as she sipped her coffee, staring blankly at the still-steaming, untouched cup across from her. Swallowing every sarcastic comment I could've made, I walked over and slipped into the other seat, saying, "Thanks for waiting for me, Pru."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Did I really have a choice?"

"That's true." I drank a little of my coffee, surprised that she'd ordered the right strength, brew, and everything. I didn't think we'd been working together long enough for her to know me that well, but, then again, she was ex-League of Assassins. Fronting a case like mine, she'd have to know everything about me in order to be able to bring me in or take me down, whatever her orders were. We didn't talk about it much, so I didn't really know for sure, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. "Is this seriously the first time we've had a conversation over a cup of coffee?"

"Who cares?" Pru asked. I shook my head, snickering a little, and stared down into my coffee. When I felt her gaze on me, I looked back up to see that she'd narrowed her eyes at me. "Why are you making small talk?"

I shrugged, taking another sip of the extra-strong, extra-black, extra-caffeinated beverage in my hands. "Just trying to lighten the mood, I guess."

"Don't. It's creepy."

"Fair enough," I sighed. Then I leaned forward across the table, lowering my voice to keep the conversation confidential. "Small talk makes us seem normal. Don't forget that." She nodded her understanding. "Now, about the target…"

"Finally," Pru muttered.

"He's a high-end boss named Lukas Macbeth. He's pretty much made his whole fortune off running the mob and the gangs in various places throughout California. He's got an organization: dozens of thugs, pimps, drug runners, and criminals who're willing to make a buck or two any way they can. Doesn't sound like much, but it's a powerful force. He controls, in some form or another, virtually everything that goes on around here through money, murder, and fear—_and_ he gets away with it. Rumor has it, though, that he's involved in something heavy. It's the total black ops of the underworld, and we're about to get deep in."

Pru's face brightened and she seemed to perk up at that. She leaned a little toward me, as well, murmuring, "So, what's the plan? Run him off?"

I shook my head. "No. We run him _in_. We trap him in his own game, we barricade him into the world he's created for himself…and we give him no choice but to work with us."

"And how do we convince him?"

"Those kinds of guys, they don't fear death. We should give Mr. Macbeth a reason to."

A smirk turned up one corner of Pru's mouth. "I like that plan."

It was difficult to suppress my own grin, so I didn't try very hard.

By eleven that night, we'd squeezed the location of Macbeth's HQ out of one of his associates and were headed over. It didn't take much debate for us to decide that it was best if I suited up before going in. The glitzy penthouse was heavily guarded, and all it would take to cripple the plan—and my whole operation—would be one of them, not necessarily Macbeth, catching a good look at my face. Pru, of course, was formerly L of A. She had no identity, no real one on the books, anyway. Me, however…I was a different story, and they only needed one guy to see my face. They had access, I knew that; they could get somebody to do a sketch, trace it back to me, and then, once they knew my name, they'd turn the tables. They'd have the advantage over me. It was a liability I could not afford to be saddled with, and, therefore, a chance I couldn't afford to take. So, Red Robin and his nameless partner stole silently away through the city's rooftops toward the Macbeth penthouse.

We sat across the street, watching him through his window in the inky darkness. I kept my eyes locked on the residence, following Macbeth as he walked into the kitchen for a beer, peering between the walls that were his bodyguards. "Let me know if you ever want a mask," I remarked offhandedly.

Out of my peripherals, I could see Pru's head whip around so she could glare at me. "I don't want a mask," she said firmly.

"I know, but if you change your mind."

"I won't."

"Don't you care if they figure out who you are?"

"I'm an assassin. It's my job to be nobody."

"Still, you never know with these guys. He might be paid up in the League, too. It's possible."

She said the next bit in a way that just screamed that she was struggling with the prospect of not killing me. "Right, because Ra's al Ghul would take a bribe from a drug runner. Let's just get in there, already."

"Wait a bit longer. There's an opportune moment for these kinds of things, you know."

"Whatever."

And when said opportune moment arrived, I turned to Pru, commanded, "Hang on tight," and shot off a line. It hooked to the top of the building across the street, and I swung over to the penthouse with my partner on my back. Our momentum carried us hard through the huge, polished window, shattering it and sending the bodyguards scattering. Pru's weight vanished from my body almost as quickly as it'd been added, and we each tended to our own sides of the room. Soon enough, the small army that served as Macbeth's personal security lay unconscious and broken on the floor of his penthouse, and I had him slammed down by the collar on the coffee table. "Evening, Mr. Macbeth," I greeted him, somewhat breathlessly. "What's up?"

I'd been right, about him not fearing death. He gazed coolly, evenly up at us, seemingly unworried that we were two apparently dangerous people about to get what we wanted or have him pay the hard way. "Look, I don't know what this is about," he replied, almost nonchalantly, "but I'm sure it's nothing I can't fix. What do you two need: money, merchandise, weapons? I can get you whatever you want."

"I don't doubt that." I shifted my weight a little more onto my left side and tilted my head just a fraction. "See, what we're looking for is a little…assistance…with something."

Macbeth scoffed. "And you couldn't just make a business proposal like normal people?" Then, he took a second look at us and added, "Oh, wait—never mind."

I shook my head at him. "Word on the street is you've got friends in some pretty convenient positions. Bet that comes in handy, running the operations you do. I bet they're scary guys."

He seemed perplexed. "Who the hell are you talking about, kid?"

"The guys you answer to. You know—the ones who _really_ run your business."

Understanding showed on his face, and he sighed in what had to be some strange mixture of regret and exasperation. "What does the Imperium have to do with this?"

_So, they call themselves the Imperium, huh? _I thought. _Thank you, Macbeth. File that away for later._ "Now, you're quite the independent man, Mr. Macbeth, and I respect that, but it takes some very mean people to boss the mob around, don't you think?" I said casually, conversationally, as if I weren't heavily suggesting something hideous was about to come next in my words. "It takes people who don't give a damn about who they're dealing with, what consequences will arise from it, and who somebody might leave behind if they just suddenly disappeared. Why should they, when they practically run the world? And if your associates' treatment of squealers, defectors, and annoyances is anything to go by, how long do you really think they'll stand your attitude?"

Macbeth was silent for a moment before asking, "So, why did you come here?"

I gave a jerk of the head to indicate Pru, who stood beside me with her arms folded over her chest. "You're in luck," I informed him. "My friend and I here are the only ones qualified enough to give you the protection I'm certain you'll need. Of course, we'll need a little payment. The deal goes like this: you give us a cut of the sales—say, maybe, twenty-five percent—as well as occasional bits of information and maybe a little firepower, and, in exchange, we provide you with life support. Think of it like an insurance policy. I don't know about you, but I think that's a pretty good deal."

"It'd be easier to give my opinion if you weren't on top of me."

So, I backed off, releasing his collar and stepping away. I didn't offer him my hand as he struggled to sit up on the edge of the coffee table, rubbing his neck like I'd hurt him. He gave a dry laugh. "I swear," he muttered. "The things you see in these cities nowadays…it's a wonder I don't go insane." He stood and walked over to the busted window, clasping his hands behind his back, and I kept my eyes on him the whole way, approaching him as he continued talking. "Everywhere you go, there's always some costumed weirdo hiding around the corner, waiting to nab you for something so little it doesn't even matter. It makes me sick. They're all so self-righteous. And you, attempting to intimidate me into participating in your little 'crusade', what's _your_ defense? Are you another one that's just protecting the populace from a scumbag like me? Somehow, I don't believe your methods are fully approved. Besides, I'm not stupid. I know your rules. You couldn't back up your threats if you tried."

Something inside me snapped.

My right hand shot out and grasped Macbeth tightly by the throat, and I thrust him out the glassless windowpane, dangling him over the Los Angeles streets. It was a frighteningly long distance from the penthouse to the asphalt, at least fifty stories of nothing but air to break his fall if I dropped him. Macbeth choked and clutched at my arm, but more to steady himself rather than to escape, and he had the good sense not to kick or thrash in my grip. "She might be the assassin," I snarled, "but I'm deadly, too. And, FYI, _I have no rules_. You watch what you say around me, understand?"

He nodded.

I pulled him back inside and dropped him roughly onto the polished hardwood floor. "Think about our proposition," I advised. "We'll be back tomorrow night to hear your answer."

And no, I didn't plan on giving him any more time than that.

Just as promised, the next night, Pru and I went back. Macbeth still needed to get the window replaced, so it left a nice, expedient entrance for us to get into. Almost the second we touched down inside the penthouse, he announced, "I've thought about it."

"And…?" I prompted.

"I decided that it would really be best if I had an insurance policy, as you called it. I'll do it."

_All according to plan, _I told myself.


	6. Reservations

"Smoothly played, Boss," Pru congratulated me. "You really had him scared."

"I told you," I replied coolly, "we had to give him a reason to fear death. So I did."

It was the morning after we made the deal with Macbeth. We had unsuited and were in my car, driving to a hotel we would be staying in for a day or two. We'd come to the decision (a.k.a. screaming argument resolved with me caving to her demands, sucker that I am), between the two of us, that it'd be best if we procured someplace other than my safe house to wind down, plan our next move, and patch each other up when needed. So, we chose the Four Seasons at Beverly Hills as our location—or, rather, Pru chose the Four Seasons. She seemed determined to go for the flashiest things L.A. had to offer, and even though I reminded her that we really couldn't afford to waste Macbeth's 25%, she insisted, so I went along with it and made a reservation.

As we pulled up on S. Doheny Drive, I warned, "Listen, Pru, this place is pretty classy. We can't make a scene, alright?"

"I know, I know," she snapped. "I'll be a good girl, I promise. We can't be the strangest people they've ever seen here."

"You'd be surprised."

Thankfully, the employee at the front desk didn't ask any questions about my bruises or Pru's shaved head. He just gave me the room key and told us to enjoy our stay. I could feel his eyes on us as we walked away, as well as the stares of several other guests at the glamorous hotel. "Everyone's staring at us," Pru muttered irritably. "Last time we come here."

"And next time we find a hotel," I countered as we stepped into the elevator, "you're going to wear a wig and a dress."

That time, I could hear her cussing me out.

We had a two-room arrangement on one of the highest floors of the building, far enough up that there was a beautiful view of the Los Angeles skyline from the windows. I flung my backpack down on the immaculately-made bed and gazed out at the sight of the silvery edifices glinting with the golden light of the midmorning sun, the buildings that were sure to be filled to the brim with people within an hour, all busy doing something important. Thinking about it, I couldn't help but feel, for the first time, how massive this city really was, how many lives and souls called this place their home. I was like them once, sheltered, safe, and blissfully unaware of the terrors the world had to offer on a daily basis. I could've stayed like them, I knew. I could've been one of them. But I chose to be something else, something more. So, I gave up that life in favor of the one I found myself in as I was staring down at their normal world. And it made me wonder. Was that why I fought so hard to protect them, because I'd known what it had been like to be them once? Was that why I was so willing to cross so many lines to keep them safe? Or was it just because I wanted to keep them from having to make a similar decision? Heaven knew I'd already lost so much because of mine…

Pru entered my room and fell on her back on the bed with a heavy sigh. I turned to face her, and she looked up at me with tired eyes. "So, what's the plan?" she demanded.

"We hole up here for a week or so," I informed her solemnly. "Do some research and see if we can't track down a few higher-end agents of Imperium. Occasionally, we go to Macbeth for info, supplies, and money, but no more than we have to, and always when he's not ready. If this is going to work, we need to discourage him from trying to outwit us, make him squirm a little. But we need to stay on the move. We can cycle through different hotels in the Los Angeles area, but we'll need to stagger them and the set the hotel times between safe house times to keep from being recognizable faces. If the staff gets antsy and notifies the police, we'll have too much trouble on our hands."

"And what if Macbeth grows a spine and tries to attack us? What'll we do then?"

I shook my head. "He won't attack us. Like you said, you're an assassin. You are nameless, faceless, and virtually untraceable. You have no identity on any records whatsoever because the League of Assassins already did that much of the hard work for you by wiping it out. Me, though, I'm not that lucky. If they trace my identity back to Bruce and the others, it could cause them some serious problems. So, we never move in on Macbeth or any of his people as Tim Wayne and Prudence. We're always Red Robin and the assassin."

Pru nodded her understanding—or was it approval?—before rolling over onto her stomach. "Don't take this the wrong way, Boss," she started, "but you would've been good in the League." She reached over and started fiddling with the zipper on my backpack. "Strict, disciplined, always the planner…I could see you leading a team into a fight. You know your stuff, don't you?"

"It's the only reason I'm still alive."

Later that afternoon, I was standing out on the balcony of my room, soaking up the sunshine and enjoying the day. The sounds of cars rushing past and honking their horns, distant conversations between people, and the occasional wail of a squad car drifted up to me, the voice of a city. I let it wash over me, keeping my attention focused on the horizon, the clear and beautiful blue sky overhead. As I stared out at it, a black shape entered my field of vision, and I squinted at it, trying to discern what it was. It was too small to be a plane, but too large to be a bird, it was coming in my direction, and it looked…strangely human.

"Aw, hell," I grumbled, turning on my heel and ducking back inside as fast as I could.

But it wasn't fast enough. I could hear his boots hit the balcony, two quick, dull thuds, even though I was halfway across the room trying to look busy. I felt the color rise to my cheeks as he stepped inside the posh hotel room, the swish of the denim legs of his jeans rubbing against each other coming closer with every step, every second. I didn't want to get caught in this moment, didn't want to have to explain this to him, of all people. There was no way he'd understand, just like Dick didn't understand, just like everybody else didn't understand. There was just no way.

"Tim?" Superboy said. "What're you doing here?"

A chill ran up my spine, and I could tell that from behind me, he was reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. I could remember a thousand other times that Conner had done the same, but never could I remember a time that I didn't welcome it, didn't seem to require that bit of reassurance from my best friend. Before I knew what I was doing, I was pulling away from the invisible touch, thinking that I didn't need this, and assuring him brusquely, "I'm fine."

"That's not what I asked, but I'm glad to hear it." I could hear the hurt in his voice. Just like I thought, he didn't get it. He thought I was mad at him or something, most likely.

I'd unpacked most of the stuff in my backpack by that point, and I started flipping through a random passport on the end table to avoid having to face Conner. I didn't think I could take the look that I just knew was on his face, that look that said he was disappointed in me, expected more from me. And he had a right to be. I mean, Conner was frickin' _Superboy_.He carried on the legacy of the Man of Steel, the World's Greatest Hero and all that. It was pretty much a part of his nature that he saw the good in everybody, saw everyone's potential. He'd known me forever, it seemed like, and he still remembered the time when I wasn't mature enough to see that sometimes this kind of approach was the only effective approach to take. He still held me to those standards, and he didn't realize that it was useless now. I didn't want to have to see the look on his face when it clicked that I'd let him down. "Did Bart deliver my message?" I inquired, as emotionlessly as I could manage.

"Yeah," Conner reported, and I detected the slightest hint of complacency in his tone, "I just didn't listen."

"You shouldn't have come here." The quaver in my voice was obvious and tuned to the tremor in my hands, and then I had to wonder why the emotion had to hit me now, of all times.

"But I'm here now."

"But you don't understand, Conner. I have to do this the way I'm doing it, because this is the only way to do it."

"Even you don't believe that." He stepped closer, and I reflexively tossed the passport back onto the end table, facedown so that he couldn't see what it was. "Tim…" I could almost feel him shaking his head at me. "I won't pretend to understand how your mind works. I gave up on that a long time ago. But will you just look at me? Will you just talk to me? I'm sure that, whatever's wrong, it'll get better if you have somebody to go through it with."

I sighed. "I can't. It's too dangerous."

"I'm Superboy. I can handle it."

I whirled around, suddenly furious with angry tears brimming at my eyes and threatening to escape. "No, Conner, I don't think you can. You're a nice guy, and I respect that, but these people eat nice guys for breakfast, superpowers or no. If I want to get _anywhere_ with this, if I want to deal with them the _right_ way, then I have to get mean, I have to get nasty. That's _why_ I broke off relations with the Titans in the first place. I didn't want to drag you guys any deeper in than you had to be, and then I realized that you didn't have to be dragged in at all. And I will _not_ go down in history as the asshole responsible for the deaths of six heroes who didn't deserve to die!"

Conner's blue eyes widened in shock, and the hand he'd lifted to place on my shoulder dropped back to his side. Stunned silence filled the space around and between us for a moment or two before he finally found enough voice to choke out, "Are…are you sure you're okay?"

That stung, and I averted my eyes so he wouldn't see that it did. "Now that you ask," I answered, "there are times that I wonder how insane I really am. I wonder why I'm even bothering with all of this, why I'm risking everything and crossing all the lines I've drawn. But then, I think about all those people down there in that city, all of them and everyone like them, and I remember why I'm doing this. It's to protect them from the worst of the worst, and I have to be worse than I've ever been to do that. I can't be their hero, because the job doesn't call for that."

"But, Tim, this is exactly what they always warned us about! If you don't have any reservations, if you go too far, how do you separate yourself from the people you're fighting? You get just as bad as them."

Conner might not have realized it, but he inherited a little bit of Clark's unspoken superiority complex with his genes. He was talking to me like I was a little kid, and I didn't like that. "You think I don't know that already? You think I haven't thought about it? I _have_! I _realize_ that I'm in the danger zone, I _realize_ that I've gone gray, but I can't afford to let that hold me back!" When I became aware that my voice had risen nearly to a shout, I lowered it and took a calming breath. "There's no room for reservations, Conner. There's no room for the old rules. The only way I'll be able to handle this is to be…the enemy."

Conner exhaled slowly and hung his head in defeat. "I'm not going to talk you out of this, am I?"

I turned back to the passports on the end table, pretending to sort them. "You should get back to San Francisco," I advised, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to know it was really a dismissal. "The Titans need you."

I heard the retreating rustle of his jeans as he walked back over to the French doors leading to the balcony. He paused at the doors and called back, "Look, Tim, you just do what you have to do, okay? I'm not going to tell you how to lead your life. But don't ever be afraid to come back home."

A gust of wind rushed into the room, ruffling the pages of the passports, and I whispered, somewhat sadly, "You still don't get it. I can never come back."

The door opened, and Pru pushed her way inside the room, her arms full of plastic sacks from a store. "I got us some more clothes, so we don't have to wear the same three outfits the whole time we're here," she announced, but trailed off when she saw my face. "Is something wrong?"

I glanced back at the French doors and saw that, despite one being open, the balcony was empty. "No," I murmured. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just…thinking of an old friend, that's all."


	7. Emphasis on the Red

**HEY! EVERYBODY! ALASTRINA A.K.A. ALI DOES **_**NOT**_** BELONG TO ME! SHE BELONGS TO TIRN33!**

I had no doubt that Conner would rat to somebody, not necessarily the Titans, about our conversation. I came to the decision that I'd deal with it if and when it happened. Right now, though, I just had too much on my hands to worry about something that hadn't even gone down yet. Bruce always did used to tell me, "Don't fight a battle that can be prevented, Tim. Wait till you know there's no other way."

Despite that, though, I was on edge for the next two days, expecting the Teen Titans or the Justice League or _somebody_ to show up at our rooms. When I finally worked up the nerve to tell Pru what had happened, what was wrong, I was afraid she'd think I was being childish. I didn't want to give her grounds to run off on me when I needed her most. As much as I hated to admit it, this was a job I couldn't do alone, and I had to have her help in order to get everything I had to have to gain some sort of advantage over the Imperium. I almost flinched after I told her about Conner's visit—almost. And there were a long few minutes of silence during which I thought, for sure, that she was going to leave me hanging. But, to my surprise, all Pru did was purse her lips, nod, and suggest, "Maybe we ought to move hotels, just in case."

She didn't have to elaborate on the last bit. It was loud and clear. _"Just in case you're right and the JLA sends the big guns after you."_

So, we packed up and left the Four Seasons, cutting our reservation short by three days. We wandered around the city for another four hours after that, talking and exploring. "How long do you figure we'll have to stay in Los Angeles?" Pru asked casually as we emerged from a coffee shop with steaming cups of caffeine in our hands.

I shrugged. "I don't know," I confessed, "a few weeks, maybe? We've got to stick around long enough to make sure Macbeth knows we mean business. We've got to drive the point home somehow, you know?"

"That's helpful."

"I know, I know. I'll let you know when I'm pretty sure we can move on to other targets. But, for the foreseeable future, we're stuck in Hollywood."

Once we decided we'd wasted enough time, Pru picked out a different hotel—the Ritz-Carlton downtown. We got rooms on one of the highest floors, to make roof access easier, and it proved a good call in planning when we went out on patrol. Although, I guess you can't really call it a patrol. I had a very specific mission in mind that night, something that would help move us forward…or so I thought.

"Remind me again why we're busting drug runners if our source target is a drug runner," Pru said as we headed toward the meth lab.

"L.A.'s divided into territories, just like every other city with gangs," I pointed out. "These guys are in Macbeth's territory, but they're not his men. This is our chance to get something on our source target. If we take out his competition, then he owes us."

She hummed to herself, and I couldn't figure out if she thought it was a good idea or that it wouldn't matter.

We pulled up at the meth lab around eleven-thirty. Then, we just sat there for a minute with the headlights on the car off and stared at it. Neither of us had any real idea what to do. When I'd been working with Batman, when I was Robin, we would've gone in quietly, busted them, and left them for the cops, indiscriminate. But we couldn't afford to be indiscriminate now. We had to send a message, a loud, clear message: if you don't work for Lukas Macbeth, you have no place in this town.

Finally, I got an idea, and I threw the car into reverse and started to back down the street. I was about four blocks away when Pru looked at me. "Boss, you're not seriously going to—" She cut herself off, unable to finish the sentence.

"You know any other way to get in?" I asked, flooring it back down the street to the meth lab.

"Yeah, try the door."

I jerked the wheel, swinging a hard right turn through the front of the lab. Wood and sheetrock splintered and caved in, and the men inside quickly ran to find cover. Pru and I braced ourselves as the windshield cracked and the airbags inflated, and two quick slashes with a Batarang ensured they wouldn't hinder getting out of the car. I had my seatbelt off in a flash and was pulling Pru down farther into her seat as she wrestled her seatbelt off. I slanted my gaze upward, watching through the window as curious runners cautiously approached the car, attempting to peer inside.

Without warning, I kicked my door open, nailing one of the men in the forehead. Pru followed my lead, leaping from the now-useless vehicle and into the sudden fray. My fist flew past the unskilled defenses of a runner and collided with his face, I forced another's gun up hard, and both had broken noses. I elbowed a sneaky guy behind me in the mouth, following it up with a knee to the gut before slamming his head into one of the car's windows, shattering it. Pru defeated the runners on her side just as easily and flashed me a grin. "Well, that was fun," she commented. "What's ne—?"

A gunshot rang out, cutting her off. She lunged to her left to avoid the bullet flying at her, but it grazed her arm, and she cried out in painful surprise, losing her concentration. She hit the floor and rolled, and I saw red.

The man who'd taken the shot was on my side. I introduced the side of his head to a powerful roundhouse kick that made him drop his gun. He sprawled on his side, dazed, and came up kneeling, trying to gather his wits for a fight.

But I was faster.

I'd already picked up the gun. It was in my hands, and the weight of it told me it was still loaded. I cocked it, touched the barrel to the back of the man's head, and squeezed the trigger.

_BANG!_

And then I was staring at a dead body lying on the floor in front of me.

Needless to say, it was a literal bloody mess. I don't want to go into the details, but to get an idea, just imagine any scene out of any movie where somebody gets shot in the face. Disgusted with myself, I flung the gun across the room. Pru stood, her jaw hanging low in disbelief. "Did you…what was…" She took a deep breath and steadied herself against the car. "Was that you?" she finally managed to ask, awe creeping into her voice.

I avoided the question. The answer was obvious, as obvious as the newly-colored concrete beneath my boots. "Are you alright?" I demanded.

She nodded. "I've had worse. I'll live." She paused. "Thank you."

I didn't answer that one, either. I just started up the staircase to the roof, calling over my shoulder, "Let's get out of here."

When we reached the hotel, Pru made the excuse that she had to clean her wound and then got as far away from me as possible. That was probably a good thing. I didn't feel like talking about it to anybody, and I sure as hell didn't feel like dealing with her trying to condone it and get me to accept that. I just leaned against the window in my room, staring out at the city. My bare hands pressed up against the cool glass, I could almost fancy that, in that light, they looked red…red as rubies…red as blood. I breathed out through my nose and looked down. _Red Robin,_ I thought sourly, _emphasis on the red._

My real cell phone vibrated on the arm of the couch, and I swept it off into my hand and had it up to my ear in one motion. "Drake," I almost moaned.

"_Tim, honey, is that you? We've all been worried sick about you!"_

I had to fight the urge to hang up on her. I recognized that voice. You know, I didn't quail under Dick's scrutiny when he called, and I wasn't afraid to admit to my friends that I was doing things very far outside of the rules. But, suddenly, when faced with a call from Alastrina, who's nowhere near as scary (in my opinion) as any of the aforementioned people, I was afraid to have to say anything to her because I knew she'd read my mind despite being on the other side of the country. "H-hey, Ali," I stammered, attempting to sound as normal as possible but only managing to sound nervous. "What's up?"

She picked up on it, of course. _"You sound upset. Where are you?"_

"That's not really…I can't say."

"_Are you in trouble or something? C'mon, sweetheart, talk to me. You can tell me what's wrong."_

I turned and leaned my back against the window, sighing. "Ali, I don't really want to talk right now."

She huffed at me in frustration. _"Well, too bad, because you're going to talk anyway. I know you, Timmy. If you keep everything bottled up for too long, you'll get sloppy, reckless. You'll get hurt."_

"You think I'm crazy, too," I accused.

Ali took a deep breath. _"I didn't say that, honey. I just don't want you to start doing things you'll regret again, that's all. I haven't forgotten what happened after your friends died. I swear, I thought you were turning into Dr. Frankenstein."_

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't talk about that again. I missed them, Ali. I was just…lost, and confused, and scared. I did it because I didn't know what else to do." I still thought about that sometimes, about how I'd tried to clone Conner. I'd never told anyone but her that I knew how to do it, and Ali was literally the only one who knew that I was planning on cloning my mother and father, and Bart, and Stephanie, too, if it worked with Superboy. I was desperate to have my life back. She knew that, and she was the one who taught me that sometimes fate has a bigger plan that death must be a part of—on every end of the scale.

"_And is that what you're doing now? You're just doing things, crazy things, because you don't know what else to do?" _Her tone wasn't chastising, only melancholy. _"Dick said that you told him you're not coming back to Gotham. He said you told him that the road is your home now. I'm sorry that you feel that way, Tim. I know what that's like, and it's not a good life for you or anybody else."_

"I know. But right now, it's the only life I can have." I slid down the wall until I was sitting. "I'll tell you the other thing I told him: if I'd done anything worth forgiving, don't you think I'd already be home?"

"_You can always be forgiven in time, no matter what you've done."_

I found myself laughing harshly. "Trust me, Ali; if you'd seen everything I've done, especially what happened tonight, you wouldn't be saying that."

Immediately, I regretted the words that came out of my mouth. I mentally cursed myself for my stupidity, even as she was asking, _"What happened tonight?"_

"Nothing happened."

"_You're lying to me, Tim. You know I can tell when you're lying. What happened?"_

"Nothing, Ali." I could feel the fury starting to rise in the back of my throat, and I swallowed over and over, trying in vain to drown it. She was provoking me.

"_Tim, c'mon, you can tell me. Just say it. What happened tonight?"_

"I _killed_ a guy, okay?" I exploded. "It was just some stupid drug bust, he took a potshot at Pru, and I blew up! I shot him with his own gun and then I left him there! Okay, alright, are you satisfied now that you know what I did?"

Ali stayed silent for a minute or two, and I prayed she'd hang up. I prayed she'd chew me out, say I was acting like an idiot and needed to turn myself in. I prayed she'd do anything but say…

"_Who's Pru?"_

Okay, so that was just as bad as condoning it. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd taken and ran a trembling hand through my hair. "Prudence," I said softly. "Her name is Prudence. She's my new business associate."

"_Business associate," _Ali repeated, and I could tell by the way she said it that she was nodding very slowly in that way she had. _"Look, Tim…I know things are getting rough for you. I know that you have to make hard choices. You didn't make a very good one tonight, and you will have to answer for it eventually. But, for right now, what's your heart telling you that you should've done?"_

I thought about it. "My heart says I wouldn't have done anything else."

"_Keep listening to your heart, but don't forget to let your head have some input, too. Thinking can't all come from one place, either one of them. Remember that."_

"Is this your way of telling me to think before I shoot someone next time?"

"_No, this is my way of telling you that you don't have to take another step down this path. It's never too late to take a step in the opposite direction, to come back. One step is all it takes to make you remember…who you were."_

If she'd been in the room with me, she would've pressed her hand to my heart. I sank a little lower in my position, suddenly ashamed of myself. "You know, it doesn't really matter how many lines I cross. There's always a part of me that remembers. And it's the only part of me I can't change."

"_I think Athena might be feeding you a little wisdom right now."_

A miniscule smile pulled my lips into a curve. "And I think Zeus is gonna fry me soon."

"_You know they always liked you. They said so, last time they were…you know. They wanted to make you into a man real fast. They said you'd be…useful to them." _I knew what Ali wasn't saying. The gods that cursed her had a habit of attempting to pressure her into making amends with them by making her family suffer. She would never tell me, because she'd never want me to endanger myself by making some hothead, rash decision in a moment of anger, but they'd threatened her through me.

"So…are you going to tell anybody?"

"_Well…that's tough. I mean, it's not like you've sold your soul—yet—you never know who'll ask for it—but you've violated a major rule. Let me ask you this: if things were reversed and you were giving me the pep talk, would you tell anybody what I'd done?"_

When she put it that way, it was a tough question, but I respected her enough to be honest with her. "I guess…I guess I'd at least tell Dick or Jason."

"_I'm sorry, Tim, but I'm obligated to do the same. I just want you to find what's best for you, even if that means I have to rat you out."_

Ouch. That wasn't how I'd expected to find out where we stood. But I took the blow with a sigh and a nod. "I understand."

"_Good. Take care of yourself, Tim. When you come home—and you _will_—I don't want it to have to be in a casket. I love you, honey."_

"Love you, too, Ali."

Hanging up was some strange combination of difficult, easy, relieving, and ominous. Ali had pretty much promised me that she'd let Dick know how far I'd gone. I couldn't say I blamed her. But, having had that conversation with her…I didn't regret it. She had this special ability to heal any wound, and I could feel it starting to work on me, lifting a little of the weighty burden from my shoulders. I found that it was no longer quite as hard to breathe and I wasn't scolding myself as much in my head. I grinned a little to myself. _Thanks, Ali, _I thought. _You always know how to make it better._

My phone vibrated in my hand, and I answered it again without glancing at the caller ID. "Ali, if you're going to tell someone, don't chicken out so quick, okay?"

"_Timothy."_

I stiffened. My voice caught in my throat. It took at least another full minute before I finally managed to make it work properly again. "Why are you calling me?"

Ra's al Ghul gave a short, breathy laugh. _"Why, I wish to meet with you, Detective. I believe we have some things to discuss which will be of interest to you."_

"Why can't you just stop all the cryptic bullcrap and tell me what you _really_ want from me?"

"_Must you be so blunt, young man? After all, you are not in the position to be disrespectful."_

"Funny, because I seem to remember outsmarting you last time we met."

"_Perhaps, but you do not command the team of assassins across the street waiting to eliminate a former servant of mine. I do."_

I rose slowly to my feet, scanning the buildings across the street for the assassins as I spoke. "You leave Pru out of this."

"_If you wish to prevent her from coming to harm, I suggest you comply with my demands."_

There again, it all came down to a question of leadership skills. If Ra's was lying, I could tell him to go to hell, and Pru and I could both walk away unscathed, but if he was telling the truth, he could have Pru blown sky-high in a matter of seconds. I didn't want to meet with him. I was pretty confident he'd try to finish what he started in Gotham. But if I said no, how much danger would I be placing Pru in? And if earlier that night was any sort of precedent, how many more times that would we be up against? What was I willing to risk?

In the end, the answer was nothing at all.

I swallowed my fear, my dread, and my pride, and I asked slowly, "Where do you want to meet?"

**A million thanks to TIRN33 for letting me use Ali. You rock!**


	8. Meeting Place

Ra's and I did not agree on a meeting place. He dictated it to me. Of course, he didn't tell me the actual location we'd be at. All he said was that a car full of his best assassins was already en route to the Ritz-Carlton to pick me up and that I needed to be outside to meet them in twenty minutes exactly. I was to bring nothing and come alone, or Pru would be killed. The second the buzz that indicated he'd hung up sounded in my ear, I was pulling one of the outfits Pru had bought a few days before and was changing into it. I hardly bothered to stuff my suit into a drawer of the dresser before I was out the door and in the elevator, heading down to the ground floor.

Emerging from the doors of the Ritz-Carlton, I noted that, sure enough, there was an SUV parked out front that hadn't been there earlier. A window rolled down, and a woman poked her head out. She had long, wavy brown hair and a beige complexion, and she spoke with a bit of an accent as she called sharply, "Over here."

Despite every one of my instincts telling me to go back inside, I walked over to the SUV and climbed into the back. I knew these people, unfortunately. Ra's had, indeed, sent a car full of his best. The Seven Men of Death glared at me with varying degrees of severity of hatred as the vehicle began to travel to the meeting place. I tried to keep from making eye contact with any one of them, gazing out the window like I was watching the city flash by endlessly.

"What's the matter, kid?" a familiar voice jeered. I whirled to glower at the tall, brown-haired man with the sunglasses who'd spoken. He raised the hook attached to his left wrist to push the sunglasses up his nose. "You look tense. Surely, you're not _worried_ about this, are you?" His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

"Hey, I beat you once, Hook, I'm not afraid to do it again," I challenged.

His buddy with the dreadlocks extended a hand around my neck almost instantaneously, his claws just barely making contact with my skin. "Watch your tone, boy," he advised with a thick Jamaican accent that made me think of Anita.

I grabbed his wrist and shot backward into my seat at the same time that I twisted his hand up and to my right, the crack of breaking bones sounding in the SUV. Scooting back did me a favor, making me miss the knifelike claws that would be sure to flail, and did, as his wrist was shattered. "Don't touch me."

Immediately, there were guns leveled at my head, and the shuriken guy was resting the blade of his boot knife against my throat. His eyes met mine, and I realized, for the first time, that he didn't look too much older than me. His voice carried a conspicuously American accent as he said, "We're not here for your protection. Try that again, and I swear I'll kill you."

"Enough," the woman snapped from up front. "Kill him and the Master will have all our heads. You know better." If anything, the air in the back of the SUV got even hotter with rage. "Drop your guards! He isn't worth the punishment."

Reluctantly, the guns were slammed back into holsters, and Shuriken Guy's knife blade came back down. Although, I wouldn't be surprised if a closer examination would've revealed their eyes on me a little more distrustfully, a little more warily. The Jamaican cradled his injured wrist, grumbling curses at me under his breath. I turned back to the window and focused on the scenery outside the car. Somehow, I wasn't too terribly surprised when the SUV pulled up out back of a building that practically shook the ground with the bass beat of the music radiating from it. People streamed in and out of the front doors, wearing everything from tight jeans and polo shirts to shimmery dresses and heels. I rolled my eyes. _What is it with you people and nightclubs? _I thought.

I was dragged rather unceremoniously from my seat and roughly escorted into the building by Hook and Shuriken Guy. The other Men of Death followed closely behind us, watching carefully as we made our way through a narrow hall into a back room. They pushed open the door and motioned for me to go inside.

A chandelier hung from the ceiling, all gold curves and teardrop-shaped crystals. Elegant lamps lined the walls, and a beautifully crafted wooden desk sat directly across the room from the doorway with Ra's al Ghul in the leather chair behind it and several of his ninja guards behind him. It would've been an impressive little office, if I hadn't had to skirt around the overturned armchairs, coffee table, and couch, as well as the downed and still-slightly-sparking flatscreen that had apparently been torn from the wall in a fight. Bullet holes peppered the white walls sporadically, attesting to the bygone struggle. I gave Ra's a pointed look as I repositioned a chair and pulled it up to the desk. "Timothy," he greeted me. "Please, excuse the mess. This office was previously occupied."

I glanced around at the destruction, a sudden chill finding its way to my skin. "I take it this was your notice of eviction," I quipped. "Now, what do you want from me?"

Ra's gestured to a ninja on his left, and the man stepped forward to hand him a file that he quickly slapped down in front of me on the desk. "It has come to my attention that you are working with a certain Lukas Macbeth. I thought perhaps this might be of interest to you."

I didn't make a move to open it or even touch it. I just eyed it questioningly. "What is it?"

"This portfolio is filled with information on Macbeth's recent exploits: expenses, success of business, et cetera. It should help you gain a better knowledge of the man you're attempting to corner into assisting you. Perhaps then you can better formulate a plan to avoid such blatantly unreasonable measures as earlier this evening, hmmm?" My head shot up at that. "Ah, yes, I still keep an eye on you, Detective. I must say, I never thought you would have the nerve to shoot a man. Quite impressive, really, but do you truly expect Macbeth to be grateful to you for what you've done? His own men could have handled the situation much more expediently and cost-effectively, and they most likely would've gained him more profit by persuading those men to join him. If anything, you've given him more of a reason to attempt to double-cross you."

I sighed, rubbing my temples. The stress and the hour were both starting to get to me. "Why are you doing this?" I asked, too tired at the moment to think for myself. "Why are you trying to help me?"

"I have assets in Los Angeles that I would rather not lose," he said. "Your destructive behavior will most certainly tear down both you and them." Then, he leaned forward across the desk and added in a lower tone, "Besides, I still see great potential in you. I care not what you think of me, but I believe you are a formidable force for whatever side you choose in this war. You will change the world, Timothy. Forgive me for wishing to play a part in it."

"So, that's what this whole thing's been about? You just want to capitalize on everything I'm doing? You're only out to protect your own interests?" I shook my head, folding my arms across my chest. "That sounds familiar."

Ra's nodded his understanding. "Still having problems with the family, I see. If it is of any consequence to you, your efforts appear to have borne some fruit. Your father has returned."

Suddenly, I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. Bruce was back? I'd really been gone that long? I could already imagine his reaction everything he'd be told about me and what I'd done, the hundred-page lecture he'd write for if and when I ever returned to Gotham. Hell, he probably wouldn't wait for that. He'd just track me down and then come and give to me the second he had it finished, no matter where I was or what I was doing. I could almost see his face, that emotionless mask with the slightest hint of disappointment in the eyes, the little twitch in the corner of his mouth that said he knew he'd taught me better and wished I'd remember that he had. I could almost hear what he'd say to me: _"Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne, what do you have to say for yourself?" _Since I couldn't sink into the floor, I settled for burying my face in my hands. "Too soon," I mumbled. "It's too soon."

Ra's ignored it, rising from his seat and adjusting his cloak about his shoulders. "Be warned, Detective," he began. "Though my men and I must remain mostly in the shadows of your operation, we will assist you when necessary and only when _I _deem it so. Do not expect me to seek your permission to interfere at any time." He motioned to Hook and Shuriken Guy, and they came over and hauled me to my feet. "You may return to your hotel now, Timothy." He smirked at me triumphantly. "I sense that you are…uncomfortable…with the Men of Death."

I rolled one shoulder, throwing a scowl at Shuriken Guy, one which he promptly returned. "I'll find my own way back, thanks. Got a car I can use?"

As I was being led out, Hook pressed car keys into my hand and murmured into my ear, "I don't care how special the Master thinks you are, kid. You wreck my car and you're dead." Then he indicated which one it was, and I climbed in, scheming that it should mysteriously end up with the back end through another meth lab's door. But, I valued my life enough that the car made it to the Ritz-Carlton in one piece and without key marks down the side.

The second I walked into my room, Pru was interrogating me. "I saw you pull up in Hook's car," she declared. "You went to meet with them, didn't you?"

I held up my hands defensively. "Ra's said he had a team across the street." I nodded in the direction of the window to emphasize it. "He said they were positioned and ready to kill you if I didn't comply. You think I'd risk your life like that?"

She crossed her arms, frowning at me. "Yes."

"Well, you're wrong. Look, I know we don't always agree on everything, and I know can seem like a real jerk sometimes. But I protect my teammates, and you just happen to be lucky enough to count yourself among that number. Don't underestimate what I'd do." I decided not to add that I was also practicing the whole "friends-close-enemies-closer" policy. Sometimes, it's best to be safe, and I did still need her, so…you know. I started to walk away, but she followed me, chewing me out.

"You know what your problem is, Tim?" she started, using my name for the first time since I'd met her. "You care too much. You let yourself get too riled up, and one of these days, it'll cost you. You need to learn detachment."

I spun around and got right up into her face. "And _you_ need to learn when to leave me the hell alone!"

She met my eyes and gave me a few moments' worth of the stare-down. "I'm just trying to help you." But she left me to my peace after that, either having gotten the message or figured that staying would be bad for my health. She even slammed the door on the way into her room.

But at least I was finally, finally alone for once.

I let myself fall onto my bed, stomach-down, and propped the file Ra's had given me up against the pillows. I hated to admit it, but the man had a point. I couldn't exactly just go around stirring up trouble until I was through with Macbeth. I needed to have some kind of information on him, needed to be able to formulate a course of action to follow through with. It wasn't even good organizational skills. It was just…common sense. Then, I had to shake my head at myself. I sounded just like Bruce.

I opened the cover of the file and was met with a typed note. My eyes widened as I read it.

**MR. DRAKE:**

**WE ASSUME YOU VALUE YOUR LIFE. THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING.**

**DO NOT PURSUE THIS CASE. CONSEQUENCES FOR DISOBEDIENCE ARE SEVERE.**

**BEHAVE YOURSELF. WE ARE WATCHING YOU.**

—**THE IMPERIUM**


	9. Work to Do

Batman glared around the room at the Hall of Justice. Any outsider would've fancied Bruce incredibly angry, but the seasoned heroes in the room were used to receiving such an expression from him. _Although, _Donna Troy mused, _he does look a trifle more pissed off than usual today…_

And who could blame him? Dick had just finished explaining everything that Tim Drake, who, according to his older brother, was now calling himself Red Robin, had done up to that point in time. Needless to say, the air in the room was transformed into something like intense incredulity. Everyone was horrified, hearing the story. Supergirl stepped forward, blonde hair tickling her slender shoulders. The S-shield on her chest seemed to gleam in the light as she spoke. "Is that seriously true?" she demanded, more out of shock than any suspicion of a lie on Dick's part. "Please, tell me that it isn't true."

The younger Batman shook his head ruefully. "I wish I could, Kara."

Kara turned away, mostly just to hide the tears that were forming in her eyes. She was a good friend of Tim's, Donna recalled, and this must've been hurting her like nothing else. Her heart went out in sympathy to the girl, even as the Flash patted her shoulder comfortingly and assured her that everything would work out. Wally looked his best friend in the eye and said, "I don't know, Dick. That doesn't really sound like something he'd do."

"But people do change," Jade reminded them, tucking a flyaway lock of green hair behind her ear. "I mean, it's a risk you run in this business, right? I can list you the names of plenty of people who've gone over the edge as heroes."

"I'm pretty sure nobody _wants_ to hear the list, Jade," Donna said. "We're having a hard enough time dealing with this."

Bruce ignored the petty argument going on and addressed his eldest again. "Are you absolutely certain that he's telling the truth?" he asked. "Tim's proven his acting abilities before, you know."

"I'm tempted to think he's lying to me," Dick admitted sadly, "but police reports in cities across the nation with confirmed sightings of"—air quotes—"'Red Robin' match his story, every last detail."

"Like what, Dick? You need to be specific."

"He talks about fires. He talks about violent drug busts. He talks about theft and crime, nightclubs and murder, and I'd say he was just making this up, just trying to get me off his back, but it all lines up. And Tim is the only Red Robin I know right now. And, okay, this is gonna sound bad, but…he's not really all up there at the moment, if you know what I mean." Dick tapped a cowl-covered temple for emphasis.

Wally and Donna had both had to stifle a snicker when Dick used the air quotes. The gesture was a sign that, no matter how much he looked like Batman, Dick would always think of himself as Nightwing. It was just something childish that you wouldn't expect from somebody in _that_ costume. But, when he began to speak about Tim's apparent mental health issues, all humor died away in an instant. He would never come out and say it—Donna liked to think her friend was too nice to be so blunt about something like this—but everyone could see that Dick was seriously concerned that Tim might've actually been insane.

Now, the Joker, Cheetah, Lex Luthor, they were insane. They topped the World's Craziest People list, and Donna had seen and heard about the kinds of things their minds were capable of thinking up. To imagine the boy she'd once known as Robin, that small, slight little bird with the wide eyes and the goofy smile, just as unhinged as the villains she'd fought against…it seemed impossible. And she was sure that, at one time, it was. _But that time's gone,_ she told herself, _and now all that's left is the aftermath of what tore it down._ Who was to say? Maybe he really couldn't handle losing so much, after all.

She was brought back from her thoughts by Wonder Woman's voice adding to the discussion. "The evidence is no doubt incriminating," Diana was saying, ever the reasonable one. "But, all the same, has Timothy specifically named himself as a perpetrator in any of these crimes? Has he admitted to participating in such evil as you say he has?"

Dick looked uncertain behind the cowl. "A, uh…_friend of the family_ spoke with him recently. She's a credible source. And she said that he told her he killed a man."

"So much for speculation on murder," Starman muttered, earning him a hard glare from Wally and Kara.

Diana took the revelation in stride and continued with her argument. "So, he has clearly caused a death. Whether it was strictly murder or his exaggeration of events has yet to be determined. As for the other actions you've attributed to him, he has made it clear that he wishes for no one to monitor his activities, and you have obliged that request. Perhaps he's working with someone, a person he met along the way or whom he knows from previous years abroad. How can we tell he isn't simply taking the blame for this person to ensure their safety from the law?"

Martian Manhunter came forward so that he was front and center in the group, his cape swirling around his muscular frame and his red eyes sweeping the room to make contact with those of everyone gathered there. "Whatever his reasons," he intoned, "Red Robin has violated the most fundamental laws of our occupation. Regardless of whether or not he has committed any crimes beyond the killing of another man, I believe we can all agree that his behavior is erratic. He is becoming increasingly more aggressive and rebellious. If this is allowed to continue, he could pose a serious threat not only to others, but to himself, as well."

Donna didn't like the way they talked about Tim. They made it sound like he was a hazardous problem that had to be controlled. They made him sound…not evil, but far from good. But she understood what they were getting at. They needed to find Tim and bring him back home before he destroyed himself. Thinking about it like that, Donna could almost justify it as worry, even though it felt a whole lot like paranoid suspicion.

"What would you have us do?" Diana demanded in a calm and even tone. "We can't just swoop in and take him away. What if the only time convenient to us to apprehend him comes when he is in a crowded area, dressed as a civilian?"

"We must stop him from bringing harm to anyone else," J'onn argued.

"But at what cost?" Donna and Diana countered in unison.

"I agree that Red Robin is going too far with his so-called justice," Jade piped up. "But I also agree with Wonder Woman that we need to be careful and think this through. So he's a potential source of danger to civilians. But we can't make ourselves into sources of danger by going after him in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Jade's got a point," Kara cut in, gathering her composure enough that she could focus on business. "What happens if he's in the middle of a store or a hotel and we rush in, guns blazing—figuratively speaking, of course? Anybody familiar with him there will know his name, and then he's got a connection to the League. Do we really want to risk blowing his secret identity and ours like that?"

The room dissolved into several rather loud propositions on a course of action, none of which were particularly eloquent. The Batmen glanced at their colleagues, and then at each other. Dick heaved a sigh, motioned to the bickering heroes, and said, "Do the honors."

"_QUIET!" _Bruce barked.

Silence followed.

"I understand that you're all concerned about this, and you have a right to be," the original Batman continued, "but you all need to calm down and pull yourselves together. Tim is my son, Dick's brother, and Kara's friend. The three of us know him the best, and, therefore, we will formulate the most effective plan of action. I will be taking a small number—_not _the entire League—to capture him once we've decided what's best. The rest of you will remain here and prepare a holding cell for him. Understand that Tim may not have powers, but he's dangerous in his own right. _Do not provoke him._ I'll deal with him once we get back, but none of you are to speak with him or go anywhere near him unless I clear it, got it?"

There was a multitude of meek nods. Batman usually got that response.

"Good." Bruce turned to Kara. "Do you think you'll be up to coming with us?"

She took a deep breath. "Can't say I'll be happy about it," she admitted tersely, "but I'll do it."

Bruce nodded, as if to say, _"Good girl",_ and looked at Diana. She raised her hands to cut him off before he could even speak. "I shall also come, if you require it," she consented, earning another nod from Bruce. Lastly, he flashed his eldest a look.

"Coming," Dick promised.

His team assembled, Bruce stood and began to walk out of the room. "Let's go," he called back over his shoulder. "We've got a lot of work to do."


	10. Ghosting and Ghosted

I'm not going to pretend that I wasn't a tad bit shaken up by the Imperium's little love letter. I mean, if someone not-so-indirectly threatened your life for trying to get in the way of their operation, wouldn't _you_ be a bit worried? Covering bases, thinking through it logically, I knew they had people following me, watching me. Hell, I'd known that since day one. But, evidently, they had a few more on my case now than they did before. And slipping the note into the file that was handed to me by, conveniently, none other than Ra's al Ghul himself? Yeah, I only saw two options there: 1) they had people in his organization, or 2) he took orders from them. And who's to say both weren't true? So, no matter where you took it from, I was screwed. They had me cornered.

But what kind of a detective would I be if I let _that_ stop me?

The rest of the info seemed solid enough, so that was less work I'd have to do on my own. Plus, I'm not really afraid of much nowadays, so it's not like they could've scared me out of coming after them. Besides, I had a responsibility that I wasn't willing to overlook. The Imperium commanded most everything on the planet, including crime, and that didn't sit well with me. In fact, it set off all kinds of warning bells in my head. If their threats made me back down, who would protect everybody else from the things they were able to do to them?

When I read the file on Macbeth, I learned a few very interesting things. First off, it had to have been written by somebody who was either inside his inner circle or just a really good creeper. They'd gotten down on paper nearly everything he did in a typical day excepting bathroom breaks. He seemed to have some routines that he went through every day that I guess helped him feel secure in his empire, somehow. Every morning, he had a cup of hot coffee and a glass of cold vodka with his breakfast. At nine A.M., he would check up on Cassius' end to make sure his son was doing alright. He ate lunch at noon and was served by three young Asian girls who fed him not only food, but also the stats on drug and weapons sales. Every afternoon at three o'clock exactly, he handled his finances: bank accounts, stocks, etc. He would eat dinner at six. Then, he would work on a report for the Imperium until he went to bed at eleven o'clock. All very intriguing, and it was good information to have on hand. The most interesting thing, though, was actually not about him. It was about Silas Cranmer.

Cranmer was Macbeth's right-hand man, his personal bodyguard, the only person he really trusted with anything short of, and including, his life. He had a hand in everything that went down in Macbeth's operation, from sales to sending out the hit men. He had the kind of up-close and personal experience with his boss that made him the ideal source of info. If there was anything else I'd need to know about Macbeth, if there was any way to get a feel for the way he ran his business, Cranmer was the key.

The one thing I always loved about working with Bruce was ghosting a target. Basically, it meant one of us followed them around all day attempting to avoid being discovered. It was an effective tool, it gave me an excuse to roam the city, and it was just downright _fun_. And despite all the crap I'd been through in the past few years, nothing about that had really changed at all. Needless to say, then, I was excited to get the chance to ghost Cranmer. I told Pru that she could have a day to herself, to relax, and then I went out in Hook's car to begin a long day of de-stressing.

The file told me that Cranmer stopped by Macbeth's penthouse every morning at eight for a rundown of the day's agenda, so I headed there first. In the parking garage, I made sure to park a little ways down from his car before getting out and taking cover around the edge of the stairwell. After a good five-minute wait, he came up the stairs with a cup of coffee in hand, glancing habitually to both sides. I cringed and slid a little farther backward. He didn't seem to notice me there, thankfully, and he made his way to his car. Once he got in and started fiddling with something on the radio, I started over to Hook's car at my normal pace. Cranmer backed out of his parking spot as I was firing up the car, and then he drove off with me not too terribly far behind.

Now, if anybody ever tells you to "just act natural", you need to ask them, for me, what the hell brand of crack they're smoking and who sells it. The more you try to be invisible, the more people are going to notice you. Don't think about your appearance in order to blend in. That was one of the first lessons Batman ever taught me, and it came in extremely important during ghosting. However, that _doesn't_ mean you just blatantly stalk your target. Every single one of my instincts was screaming at me to get right up on Cranmer's bumper, to follow him as closely as possible. But, since that wouldn't be very logical or effective (not to mention far from subtle), I stayed a couple of cars behind him, making sure I could still see him up ahead. Not that any of that was really too hard, anyway; driver's common sense made me wait for passing cars instead of pulling out in front of them, and Cranmer's car was probably the shiniest BMW on the road, perhaps in the entire Multiverse.

Now, I'll admit, I wasn't expecting him to pull into the public library's parking lot, but I followed him, anyway. I grabbed my backpack out from where I'd stashed it under the passenger seat and went inside just after him. It must've been obvious that I hadn't been inside a library for a while, or that I was at least in awe of this one, because the lady at the front desk, when she was through helping Cranmer, asked softly, "Excuse me, sir, can I help you with anything?"

She wasn't being at all unkind, but the question still somehow unbalanced me, like I'd been caught. _Guilty conscience, _I thought. But all I said was, in an equally quiet tone, "No, thanks, I think I can find what I'm looking for." I even managed to plaster a fake smile on my face for effect.

Staying a pace or two behind Cranmer proved one of the simplest parts. Never in my life had I been more grateful to be an ex-Bat than right then, as my footsteps were near-noiseless. The last thing I needed was a confrontation in a public place like this. My level of interest in the situation was climbing with each second spent on a journey towards the back room. Cranmer only turned around once, and I covered quickly, approaching a bookshelf directly in front of me and starting to look through the books, playing the college student looking for research material. I watched him discreetly from behind the cover of a biography as he verified that no one was looking before opening the back room door and slipping inside.

I put the book back and practically pounced at the door, jamming my hand between it and the doorframe at the last second. I stepped in and closed it soundlessly behind me, taking swift, silent steps in Cranmer's direction and hoping he couldn't hear my jackhammer of a heartbeat pounding in my chest. I hid as close to him as I could without being easily seen and observed as he moved a rack away from the wall, slid a white card through what looked like an alarm system's control panel, and walking into a room whose entryway had suddenly materialized before him. I dove underneath the door as it was coming down, making it inside, and then my curiosity piqued. It had to have been archives of some kind, with the sheer amount of bookshelves lining the room that were all stuffed full of binders marked with various letters of the alphabet. Handwritten notes were taped up all over the place, directing the way to the financial records, the project files, and…the history of the Imperium. I narrowed my eyes in spite of myself when I saw, at the very bottom of one note, an arrow pointing the way to target dossiers. Well…Cranmer had taken me to the information I _really_ wanted. There was no reason to stay with him, and if I just lay low and kept quiet, I could hang around wherever I wanted to, grab whatever I thought I'd need. Checking to make sure nobody was in sight, I crept over to the target dossiers to take a peek.

It wasn't very impressive, just a bunch of file cabinets marked with different combinations of letters standing for, I assumed, beginnings of last names. But, it was well-hidden at the far left side of the room, and it would be pretty hard to notice I was there unless you were close, and that was all I was asking for. I looked the cabinets over for a minute or two, unsure of where to start, when my eyes fell on the section labeled "De—Dr." I slid it open carefully and sifted through the files inside until I came to a particularly thick one held shut with a paperclip and whose tab bore the name "Drake, Timothy J." Well, they were certainly serious about me being a threat.

I moved on quickly, unnerved a little, and found many more files of interest. They had dossiers on Dick, Bruce, Jason, and Damian, as well as Conner, Cassie, Bart, Rose, and most of the JLA. Pretty soon, I had a rather large stack of files tucked under my arm and was working to get my backpack open without drawing Cranmer's attention. Once I had the top open as far as I dared, I crammed the files in, closed it up, and made my way around to a good hiding spot near the door, just under a desk and shadowed enough that I wasn't too noticeable. After about twenty minutes, Cranmer came back, and I left with him.

I gave up on ghosting, apparently, because before I could stop myself, I had pulled into a parking garage and was walking inside Beverly Center with my full backpack slung over my shoulder. It was really a pretty awesome place, I'm sure. I wasn't really paying attention to any of that. All I was concerned with was finding the nearest place to sit down and look over those files. Somehow, I found myself seated at a table with the records spread out in front of me, trying to decide which to read first. And I'm not sure how long I spent there, poring over every file and circling every important detail, everything they shouldn't have been able to know, in black ink. By the time an employee came along and kindly informed me that they were closing in ten minutes and I'd have to leave, I was stuffing the thoroughly-read dossiers back into my backpack and walking out in a daze.

My breathing was a little quicker than it should've been as I made my way back to the hotel, and no amount of telling myself not to panic could slow it down, all because of the one thought that kept circulating itself through my mind. _They know everything._ Those dossiers had been complete. So complete, in fact, that they had to have been written by people who knew the subjects…people on the inside. _How many of us are really working for them? _The question made my heartbeat pick up its pace, brought a nervous, cold sweat to my skin.

I pulled into the parking garage with a heavy heart. Screw Macbeth, we couldn't stay in L.A. any longer. I practically started pounding on the elevator to make it go faster as I rode up to the rooms, bouncing on my toes. I had to tell Pru. I had to tell Pru so that we could get out fast and clean and relatively unharmed. That was all that mattered, right? Protect your assets, friends close and enemies closer, right?

As if I needed anything else to bolster my anxiety that night, I entered the room to the sound of…nothing going on. Absolute silence emanated from every wall, every doorway. The TVs were off. No sound of someone singing somewhat off-key to a song on their iPod, just quiet. I swallowed, attempting to force my apprehension down with my saliva, and called out, "Pru? Are you in here? This is urgent, like, _deathly_ urgent."

My right side tingled with goosebumps as a shadow fell over me. I turned and threw out an elbow, aiming to hit the gut of my attacker, but they caught the blow, and then their knuckles were cracking across my cheekbone and forcing my head to the side. Someone else gripped my jaw, holding my head still, and before I could throw them off, a needle was sinking into my neck, emptying its contents into my veins. A heavy fog descended over me, clouding my brain, blurring my vision, making my eyelids suddenly feel like they weighed more than I did. As they released me, my body went limp, and I crumpled, lifelessly, gracelessly, to the floor, and then I just lay there, unable to get up and move or fight back.

The men were all standing around me, gazing down at me evenly, but not a one of them made a move to do anything to me. I was busily fighting the drug or whatever it was they'd given me to figure out why that was when I heard the sound of a door opening. Footsteps approached, light and leisurely, and a new figure entered my line of sight. I couldn't see them—whoever it was just appeared to be a big, pink-and-black blob—but I could hear them, and I recognized the voice.

"Is that a bruise?" Pru demanded, her voice taking on a commanding tone. "The Master instructed us not to harm him."

The tunnel of black fringing my vision closed up, and I didn't hear or feel anything after that.


	11. Compromised

The groan that escaped my lips was inevitable. After all, my neck stung, my head ached, and I felt like I'd just swallowed a couple hundred live wasps. And the second I realized how much pain I was in, I also discerned that I was awake enough to know all that. As sensation slowly returned to my body, I could make out that was sitting in a stiff, leathery chair, and something that felt like a seatbelt was drawn tightly across my waist, securing me in my seat. There was a low hum and a soft, high-pitched whine all around me and beneath those noises were the sounds of people's voices, quietly conversing with one another. My head lolled forward as I battled against the sedative, and at last, I managed to force my eyes open and lift my head again to look around.

I was on a private jet. It wasn't as big as a commercial airliner but was still pretty sizable, and every seat was filled. But everywhere I looked, I saw men and women clothed in tight black bodysuits with vests full of gear, along with holsters and scabbards full of weapons. And from the looks of it, they outnumbered me by a lot. They gazed calmly back at me when they felt my eyes on them, and I squirmed in my seat, not quite knowing what to do. Scary thoughts flashed through my head, thoughts that made me that much more uncomfortable because I knew they were true.

_This jet belongs to Ra's al Ghul. He had me drugged and put on here with a bunch of his assassins, and now they're taking me to who knows where to do who knows what to me._

"Look at you."

Pru's voice and soft laughter sounded from behind me, and I whirled around to see her in full League gear, returning to her seat just across from me. She sat down, shaking her head and snickering, and leaned forward on her knees. "You wake up on a plane with assassins on every side and no idea where you're headed. Makes you nervous, doesn't it? That's a rhetorical question, by the way. I know how you work. You're all about details, and having none makes you so…jumpy."

I glared at her with every ounce of force that I had. The only thing that stopped me from undoing my seatbelt, leaping across the gap between us, and strangling her right then and there was the fact that we were literally surrounded by killers. "I swear, when I get out of here, I'm going to—"

All of a sudden, she had her gun drawn and pointed at me. "You're not going to do anything. You know why? It's because there are twenty-seven assassins on this plane, all armed with lethal weaponry and trained to use it. You can't possibly overpower all of us fast enough to get away. Make one move, and I guarantee you _somebody_ will kill you. The Master still thinks you're important, but you can be replaced."

"So can you, right?"

If I wasn't mistaken, her mouth twitched a little, and her gaze hardened. I didn't move my eyes away from her face, but I could hear the click of her pistol cocking. "I can shoot you now, and nobody here will give a damn, but Ra's al Ghul won't be very happy. He may very well have everyone here executed for simply standing by and allowing you to die before your time, all because you pissed me off and I decided to kill you. So, how about you stop being a smartass so that you don't have more blood on your hands?"

I scratched my head. "Well, how about you just don't shoot me so that nobody else has to die?"

She stared me down for a minute or two, as if deciding what to do. At last, she reset the safety on her gun and tucked it away into its holster. "Fine, have it your way."

I glanced about again, getting into a more comfortable position in my seat. "So, what was that all about?" I demanded. "Why'd we bail?"

Pru reached across the gap and handed me a photograph. I studied it closely. "That was taken on a security camera in Beverly Center," she informed me. "Do they look familiar?"

A huge, bulky, dark-haired man, another man with equally dark hair but who appeared a little bit smaller than the first, a tall woman with flowing black hair and an athletic physique, and a slender, blonde-haired teenage girl were pictured. Even though they wore civilian clothes, I could recognize those faces, those builds. I swallowed hard. "Wonder Woman, Supergirl, and the Batmen," I said, my throat going dry.

"We were compromised," Pru continued. "We had to move out quickly. You're lucky that the League has your back. Otherwise, you wouldn't have spotted them until it was too late."

_The cell phone,_ I thought, biting my lip a bit. Dick _had_ tracked me through it. They followed the signal across the country to Los Angeles. Now I had to deal with the big guns of the JLA on my tail, and they weren't going to stop until they had me in custody. I exhaled slowly through my nose and asked, "Did you get rid of the cell phones?"

"What?" Pru seemed confused.

"My cell phones that I had, all of them, did you get rid of them?"

"No."

"Well, then I guess I will. Where's the bathroom on this thing?"

"Not so fast." Her gun was pointed at me again, even as I was undoing my seatbelt. "I'm not letting you out of my sight, hotshot. You might decide to get tricky on us, and we can't have that. Just sit tight until we get to Gotham."

I buckled my seatbelt again and sighed, shaking my head. "They'll count on that, you know. You're leading each and every one of us into their hands."

Pru said in a low voice, "Look, I told you once that I'm just trying to help you, and I am. I know you like to think of yourself as one of them, but you need to just let go and face it. You're one of us." She sat back with a smirk. "One day, you'll see things our way. For now, we're the only ones who know what's best for you, and we know that Gotham is far safer for you than Los Angeles. We're equipped to handle the Justice League and their allies, thanks to your mentor. We know how to bring them down, and we'll do it if we must."

"Just don't kill them. That's all I ask."

"If we don't, will they ever leave you alone?"

We rode in silence until about fifteen minutes before landing in Gotham, when I piped up again. "Why does Ra's al Ghul still want to work with me?" I wondered. "Why does he show so much interest in the person who took down his organization?"

Pru gave me a guarded look. "What'd he tell you?" she replied.

I rubbed the scar across the bridge of my nose, thinking back. "He said something about protecting his assets in California, but we're not in California anymore." I met her eyes. "What do you know about it?"

She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, exchanging a glance with someone across the way. Finally, she made a decision. "You're different from the others. You…_adapt_…much more quickly, not as much of that moral compass crap getting in the way of it. And nobody knows what you're going to do next. You're a wild card, and he appreciates that skill. Beyond that, I have no idea." She inclined her head a bit. "Any other questions?"

I nodded out the window. "Are we landing?"

The runway loomed outside, growing closer with every second. Pru pulled her seatbelt on, keeping her eyes locked onto me. When the pilot came back to give us the all-clear to get off, I was escorted out by about seven assassin who all stayed very focused on whatever I was doing. I thought about throwing out a witty comment…really, I did, but I figured it'd be best to continue with my mission _without_ brain or spinal damage, so I said nothing. A man in a suit emerged from the customs building, and Pru approached him. Over the dying roar of the plane, I could hear snippets of a conversation being held in Arabic.

"We have Drake with us."

His eyes fell on me. "I see that. The Master has instructed you to bring him to checkpoint delta. He will be waiting there to speak with him."

"Understood."

She walked back over, drew her gun, and leveled it at me. "Let's go." Then she got behind me and started prodding me in the back with the barrel, guiding me over to the near-empty parking lot. It was a longer walk than I expected, at least two minutes from the landing strip, and quite a ways to go with a prisoner and no backup. She led me to a black Pontiac and pressed the keys into my hand. Her eyes flashed to mine and held my gaze, communicating a message that I understood immediately. _A woman of many loyalties,_ I said to myself. "You drive," she stated.

"Thanks," I told her, and I meant it. Then, I drove my elbow into her gut, slamming her gun upward into her nose when she doubled over. She fell to the ground, unconscious, and I tossed the gun down beside her before climbing into the car and firing it up. By that time, the other assassins were all running over, shouting and shooting. I ducked down a little farther into the seat and took off, squealing my tires all the way down the road.

I drove as fast as I dared to go through the city to get to my safe house. I seriously doubted that, even with the plethora of black Pontiacs in Gotham, they'd have a hard time identifying the car I was in. So, when I reached my safe house, I pulled the car inside with my bikes to avoid it being seen. I needed some time to rest up and get my act back together before going out again, much less in that thing.

It was around six o'clock that night when I decided that, if I was going to draw the wrath of the League of Assassins, I might as well get it over with. I had suited up and was heading for the car with a fully-stocked utility belt, ready for a fight, when I heard a familiar voice intone behind me, "We need to talk."

I lashed out without a second thought, sending a fist flying at the person's face. A cowl-covered head jerked to the side, and a kick to the chest sent Batman stumbling backward. I stood over him menacingly. "I told you once, Dick. I'm not afraid to hurt you if I have to."

Something that felt distinctly like a brick wall intervened, throwing me against the car hard enough to crack the glass in the driver's side window. I slid to the floor and found myself staring at a pair of red boots on very feminine legs. I was already reaching behind my cape, into a pouch on my utility belt, as I raised my eyes to the young face looking back at me. "Supergirl," I said.

"Don't make this difficult, Tim," she advised, touching down in front of me. "I don't want you to get hurt."

"I don't want any of you to have to get hurt," I answered, drawing my hand out of the pouch. Kara started to waver a bit. "That's why I have to do this."

My fist glowed green with the radiation from the Kryptonite ring as I gave Kara a good roundhouse to the face. She fell to the ground, struggling to push herself up. A shadow fell over me, and I ducked out of the way just in time for Bruce to land right where I had been standing. I dropped and unloaded a spin kick that was easily dodged. He went to deliver a punch, and I rolled left to miss it, banging my side against the car. I leapt out of the way of his next attack and launched my own, determining not to give up the fight until they knocked me out.

A rope tightened around my waist, pinning my arms to my sides, and I was jerked off my feet and soared backwards into the arms of Wonder Woman. "Stop this, Timothy," she commanded, tugging the Kryptonite ring off my finger and flinging it into the corner. "You're only making it worse for yourself."

I reached up to try and untie the lasso that was holding me back, but Diana deftly wrapped it around me a few more times, trapping me in its embrace. The golden rope's low, pulsating hum was hypnotic, lowering my mental defenses despite my best efforts to keep them up. I could feel my body going slack in her grasp, and it suddenly felt like the whole world was sluggish and slow. "This is for your own good," Diana assured me, and she sounded almost remorseful. "I hope you can understand that."

"We're done here," Bruce said, helping Kara up off the floor. "Let's get him back to base."


	12. Truth Revealed

You know, sitting in the Hall of Justice, having a chat with your mentor and his buddies, is supposed to be a cool thing. But the awesomeness is somehow diminished a bit when you're tied to a chair by Wonder Woman's magical Lasso of Truth and are being interrogated by said mentor and said buddies.

"How long were you planning to go before you told us anything about what you were doing?" Bruce questioned.

I really wanted to stay quiet, to not answer so that they didn't find out anything I didn't want them to know. But the lasso was stronger than I was, and my mouth was moving and words were coming out before I had a chance to even try to stop them. "My whole life, I guess," I said.

"What did you hope to gain by turning yourself into a criminal?" Diana demanded.

I shrugged. "It got you guys off my case for a while."

Wally shook his head. "You don't give a damn about any of this, do you, kid?"

"Actually, I care a lot more than you might think."

There was silence for a minute before Bruce spoke up again. "Let's start with the basics, some questions other people couldn't answer for me. You believed I was alive after the Final Crisis. Why?"

"I had it from a good source." Bruce gave Diana a look, and she yanked the lasso a little tighter around me, forcing more mental barriers down to let the truth, the precious truth that I'd hoped to never have to tell any of them, come pouring out. "I never doubted it. You always have a plan for everything, even for Darkseid, for dying. I found it a little hard to believe that you'd go into that situation without some way to get out of it. I didn't know what the Omega Sanction really did at the time, but it was just as well, and besides, they said the same thing after Bane broke your back. You came back from that, and I knew you'd come back from this, too. I went out looking for proof as a cover, because I knew it couldn't be proven."

"What were you trying to use it to cover?" Jade piped up.

"My real work; I didn't want anybody else involved."

Starman was giving me a look like that of someone who's mildly interested in a stupid TV show. "I sincerely hope you know how much like bullshit that sounds."

"It _is_ bullshit. That's why I kept saying it to myself over and over again." Damn, I hated that lasso.

Everything was quiet again for a moment or two, until Kara got brave. "Why did you do this to yourself? Why did you shut us all out and turn into—into _this_?" she demanded. I turned my attention to her and saw that she was glowering at me, accusatory, incredulous. Her expression communicated the words she couldn't bring herself to say. She knew I was better than this. She'd expected more from me. And right then, that hurt more than being caught.

I could feel my lower lip tremble ever so slightly. Then words were spilling from my mouth, pouring out as easily as water, and I stopped trying to fight it. "The people that I'm after, the Imperium, they don't play by our rules. Hell, they don't even _have_ rules. If I'd gone after them being my normal, nice self, I wouldn't be here right now. I'll tell you the same thing I told Conner: they eat nice guys for breakfast, powers or no. And I know I have to take them down, so I had to do this. I had to muscle my way inside their operation to shut them down, but I couldn't risk everybody else's lives, too. I knew that, if I started breaking away from the regulations and acting a little less like the hero, you guys would cut off diplomatic relations with me and start pursuing me as an enemy, and it might've even been enough to help me get my info from sources, scare them into talking. I mean, if the JLA is targeting somebody, how much more dangerous than the average criminal are they? Don't you guys get it? The fewer allies I have, the fewer people I care about who die because of me. Or so I thought, anyway." I shook my head. "I didn't have a choice, Kara. I didn't have a choice."

She stepped back with tears in her eyes, and I suddenly hated myself for everything I'd done. I had been so sure of myself, so unwilling to take a second look at the consequences. And I had to ask…why did I let myself go so far?

"What's the Imperium?" Dick asked, bringing me out of my reverie.

I looked down into my lap to avoid their eyes. "Like a real-life Illuminati," I murmured. "The Imperium is an organization that is in charge of the world. They have a hand in everything from politics to the economy to crime. They keep things running how they deem they should, staying in the shadows and running everything for us all."

"Why are you after them?" Bruce inquired, staying on top of the discussion, as always.

I brought my gaze back up to his face. "It sounds like a good deal, and I suppose it kind of is. But the truth is that it's going to hurt more than it's going to help. The Imperium only lets in certain kinds of people, certain very special people. They like to think of themselves as an honest business, but they're really just a minority. It's probably only, what, an eighth of the Earth's entire population, maybe less? And they're trying to dictate how the world should behave? I don't think so. These kinds of things in the past, the minority governing the majority, it never works out for the better, always for the worse. I know they're just trying to help, and I respect that, but they're ignorant of history's lessons. This _won't work_, and I _refuse_ to let them drag the world down to its knees because of their blindness." I gave my head another shake. "But, unfortunately, they're also a very high-profile minority. They have the best of strategy, the best of security. I had to have a way to get past that, and if I couldn't skirt around it, I'd just bulldoze through it, hence my need to toughen things up. Besides, if they exhaust enough energy looking for me, trying to kill me, they'll spend less and less on trying to run the world. They'll get overtaxed, and that'll make it easier to shut them down when the time comes."

"Have you thought about the effect that might have on society?" Donna wondered.

The questions were coming in rapid fire succession, leaving me absolutely no time to recover, no time to think or build up any stronger defenses. That was the first time in my life that I'd ever resented the Bats being on the JLA. But, of course, I was honest with them. I had to be. "No," I admitted, shrugging a little. "In all honesty, I was really just trying to wear them down first while I thought of a way to dismantle their organization _without_ destroying world economic processes, major governments of the world, etc. I haven't had much luck yet."

A hush fell over the room as everyone glanced at one another. I cringed inwardly and hoped they wouldn't take it like they took my faith in Bruce's being alive. At last, Dick cleared his throat. "Well, if there's anything we've learned from yours and Bruce's respective ordeals," he said, "it's that it'd be kind of stupid not to listen to you. But, by the same token, do you seriously expect us to believe that there's some secret society governing the entire planet behind the backs of world leaders?"

I shrugged again. "I really don't know, because I never really planned on telling you guys. I guess it's up to you to decide if you believe me or not. And I wouldn't really say it's behind their backs; a lot of them are members."

Bruce nodded to Diana, and she reached behind me to untie her lasso. I stood on shaky legs, letting the golden rope fall away from my body, and was leaning over my knees, sucking in a deep breath to calm my now-frazzled nerves, when I found that Martian Manhunter was right beside me radiating cool strength. I straightened, and he gripped my arm with a meaty green hand. "Do not resist," he ordered, but it sounded more like advice to the health-conscious. I nodded meekly, and he led me out of the room with the Batmen following closely behind us. I was taken to a private holding cell, one that seemed designed to restrain somebody of the caliber of, say, Black Adam or Bizarro, maybe. The Kryptonite-laced titanium door outfitted with three state-of-the-art, hack-proof locks from WayneTech was only the start of the intense security measures that had been installed in the cell. I won't detail them all, but let's just say unseen cameras and crap are more abundant nowhere else.

J'onn marched me all the way through the door and over to the bed, where he had me sit down. Then, he stood over by the door with his arms crossed while Bruce approached me. I expected him to say something about how disappointed in me he was, or how he'd expected something better—something _more_—from me, but he didn't. Instead, he just produced a needle I hadn't even realized he'd gotten into the room and stabbed it into my arm, pressing down slowly on the pump to force the liquid into my veins. "What is it with you people and drugging me?" I sighed.

Bruce pulled the needle out of my arm so fast that it actually kind of stung and literally slapped a bandage over the small wound. "Just a little something to help you sleep," he grunted, smoothing the bandage down onto my skin. "We'll talk about this more after you wake up." And then, he and J'onn went back outside and shut and locked the door, leaving me alone inside.

Normally, had I been fully awake, the fluorescent lights bouncing off the white walls would've hurt my eyes, but the drug, slow-acting though it was, had taken enough effect at that point to dim my vision a bit. I found my eyelids drooping despite my best efforts to keep them open, and soon, I was getting dizzy and lying back on the bed. I told myself that it was just to clear my head, to stop the room from spinning. I was only going to close my eyes for a minute. But a minute soon turned into five, and then ten, and then I was out like a light.


	13. Strategy and Chess

I jolted awake from the worst nightmare I'd had in ten weeks with flailing arms and legs. My left arm smacked against something cushiony, and I was sitting up in an instant. Before my eyes even registered anything that was in the room, I could tell that I was no longer in my holding cell at the Hall of Justice. Then, I actually saw what I was looking at: my Gotham headquarters, underneath the old theater on Park Row where Bruce's parents were killed. I was stretched out across the couch, the computer was on, softly broadcasting Evanescence throughout the room, and a few lights were even turned on overhead. I breathed deeply, forcing myself to go back into Bat-mode. I couldn't lose my cool, not now, of all times.

"I'm sorry, Tim," Bruce called to me, stepping out of the shadows he'd been concealed in only a moment before. "I know how being moved in your sleep distresses you, but it was the safest way to get you from the Hall to Gotham City."

I blinked at him, a little shaken, and nodded. I couldn't help but feel suspicious. _Something else is going on here,_ I thought. _Gotta find out what it is. _"Why'd we come here?" I demanded.

"I needed someplace a little more…private…to speak with you. I thought that bringing you back home might make you a little less apprehensive."

"I guess." I slowly swung my legs over the side of the couch until I was sitting in it, crammed as far into the corner between the cushion and the armrest as I could go. Bruce pulled down his cowl and came over to sit beside me. We were both silent for a moment before I asked, "So…what'd you want to talk about?"

He nodded at the ceiling, indicating the hideout in general. "Nice place," he remarked. "It's impressive, really. Why'd you choose the theater?" I got the sense that he was avoiding the question I'd asked. And if his tone was anything to go by, he wasn't too thrilled that I was going to be operating off Park Row when I was in town.

I shrugged. "It seemed appropriate at the time," I replied. "I mean, this place seems like the starting point for plenty of new lives: Batman, Red Robin…"

"I see." He put a hand on my leg. "I know things have been difficult for you lately, and you've had to make a lot of hard decisions."

"You've been talking to Ali, haven't you?"

Bruce glared. "Let me finish. I know things have been difficult for you lately, and you've had to make a lot of hard decisions. But I want you to know that there is something in all of this that I can applaud."

I gave him my best skeptical gaze. "Are you serious? What?"

"Your strategizing skills are definitely on the rise. Judging from what I heard at the Hall, you were hard at work to find a way to bring down the Imperium without hurting more people than needed to be hurt. I'm proud of that. Unfortunately, it's all I really can be proud of." I nodded my understanding, hanging my head in anticipation of the berating that I knew I was about to receive. "But, it would seem that the Imperium is rather actively interested in you."

That caught my attention. I raised my head to eye him again in distrust. "Yeah, I guess so."

"They appear to intensely dislike when their secrets are revealed. You've become their target, is that right?"

"That's right."

Bruce nodded. "Good. So you understand, then."

"Yeah, I understand that they're after my ass, trying to kill me, because it's some kind of inherent part of my nature to blow my own cover."

He didn't pretend not to notice my little outburst, and he was a pretty damn good not-actor, too. "Since you feel that way about it, I guess it makes it all the easier to tell you that they want you know you don't have to be their enemy."

Most people's hearts would've skipped a beat, but mine froze in its tracks. When it picked back up again, its beat was quick and thumping, the kind of heartbeat you have when you're on an adrenaline high. I started trying—and failing—to convince myself that I hadn't just heard those words come out of Bruce's mouth. My mouth and throat went dry in less than a second, and my voice came out hoarse with astonishment. "You're…one of them?"

"Frankly, I'm surprised you hadn't deduced it earlier."

I shook my head, trying to clear away the nonsense thoughts clogging up my useful brain processes. "Why?"

"Why am I surprised?"

"No, why'd you join them? Why'd you choose to be a part of that…that sick…?"

Bruce held up a hand to cut me off, looking displeased. "What you've heard about us—or what you think you know, based off of whatever information you may have collected—is not the entire truth. The Imperium is not as evil as you think. We're actually a formidable force for good in the world."

"Yeah, but you do 'good' by _committing crimes_. Need I remind you how twisted that is?"

"It's to balance the system. Believe me, Tim, if we had our way, the world would be a paradise. But we can't turn it into a paradise, because humanity's existence is, by nature, marked with suffering and sadness. That's why it has to be gradual. If we turned the world into that paradise we want it to be overnight, people would never accept it, and it would all fall apart. Things would be worse than they were before, and then where would we be other than hell?" He shook his head sadly. "There is such a thing as too perfect, Tim. Don't you see? We're just trying to help people."

I closed my eyes, dropping my head into my palms. I pressed the heels of my hands into my forehead, just above my eyebrows, to try and stop the stress migraine that was beginning to form there and maybe also to block out the unbelievable reality that was attempting to invade my brain and color my thoughts. I wanted nothing more than to get down on the floor, scream, and throw a huge temper tantrum, or at least smash a few things, but I settled for just being furious. As much as I would've liked to say I was incredulous, I found it increasingly easier to believe that what he was saying was true. That didn't mean I had to accept it and move on, though. The man who'd practically raised me as a father, the man I'd looked to for years, the man I'd _trusted_ with everything, including my life…he was one of them. And I'd never seen it until then, when he practically had to shove the evidence up into my face to get me to see.

I felt his hand on my shoulder and jerked away. Even though I didn't look up at him, I could sense that disappointed expression locked onto me, those icy blue eyes boring into my soul. "I need to show you something, Tim," Bruce told me.

The next thing I knew, he was slipping a file between my forearms and onto my lap. I sat back and opened it warily, spreading out the contents on my lap for a better look.

Pictures were sitting on my legs, grisly, incriminating photographs of murders, burnt-down buildings, remnants of meth labs, and crashed cars. And in every photo was my insignia, the bird's head inside the circle, crudely drawn on a wall in spray paint or a design of burning gasoline on the ground. My eyes traveled over every one of them, drinking in the details, until they landed on a picture of a very familiar-looking man in an expensive suit, lying on a hardwood floor that was stained dark red, almost brown, with the blood that leaked from the knife wounds in his chest and head—Lukas Macbeth. Written in the blood, seemingly hovering over his left shoulder was the Red Robin insignia. I licked my lips and returned my gaze to Bruce, barely able to fight back my rage. "You guys did this?" I demanded.

Bruce nodded. "The Imperium decided that, since you were going to such lengths to make yourself into a public enemy, we'd help you with that," he affirmed.

I shook my head. "All those people…innocent people who died, and it was all because of _you_."

"No, Tim. It was all because of _you_."

I leapt to my feet, letting the file and its contents spill onto the floor around my shoes. "Goddamn it, Bruce!" I shouted. "There was _no reason_ to go and _slaughter_ all these people!"

"It was good strategy."

"It's an _excuse_! What the hell did any of them have to do with me, huh? Why'd they get offed for me?"

Bruce sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, seeming frustrated with me. "I don't get why this is so hard to understand, Tim. All that was for was to buy us some time to make a decision on what to do with you. Believe me, I didn't like it one bit, but we had no other choice. If we promoted your criminal image, the Justice League would bring you in, no doubt seeing you as a threat to society, and while you were imprisoned, we could examine our options."

I folded my arms. "Examine your options? What options?"

"Currently, there are three of them. Option number one is that we just kill you and be done with it. Fortunately, I've managed to deter that line of thinking for now. Option number two is that we put one or two of the many psychics we employ to good use and have them alter your memory, implant another motive for your actions. Having had that done to me once before, I didn't want that to have to happen to you, too, so that only leaves option number three."

"Which is…?"

"You join us."

I stared at him for a second before I started laughing. I couldn't help myself. "Join—you want me to _join_ you?" I repeated, guffawing. "You want me to agree to be a part of the Imperium?"

"The Imperium can wipe your slate clean, can clear your name," Bruce promised. "Once you've served your penance for the crimes you actually _did_ commit, you'll start on our real work. You'll be a wonderful instrument of change for the better. You can do so many great things for the world, Tim. All we need is your answer."

"How does 'no way in hell' work for you?"

Bruce let out a deep breath. "Tim—"

"No, listen. You tell them I said thanks, but they can shove their offer up their ass. Involved was the one thing I never wanted to be. If you're worried about me telling anybody, I won't. I'll watch you people, I'll monitor your activity, everything you do, and if you take one step out of line, expect me to be there to make sure it's the last one you do. This can't go on forever. People need to make their own choices, need to let the world be what they'll make it. People need their freedom, and I'll ensure they have it, even if it means I have to tear the Imperium apart from the outside in to do it."

Bruce appeared to be somewhat dissatisfied, but if I wasn't mistaken (and I'm usually not), he also looked a little proud. "Son, I won't presume to tell you what to do with your own life. I can't say I'm happy about the choice you've made, but I'll let you pursue whatever path you think you need to. Do what you think you have to. Be what you think you have to. I'll always be right there when you need me. Like right now, when I'm telling you that I'll let you get a head start. They'll be coming for you soon."

We stood there in silence for a moment. Finally, after what felt like hours of giving each other the stare-down, Bruce motioned toward the exit. "Go on," he advised. "Start running."

I met his eyes, and I let the betrayal, the anger, and the sadness boil over inside me so that he'd be sure to see what I felt. Then, I turned on my heel and started walking out of the safe house. I was stopped when I heard Bruce call out, "Oh, and one more thing."

A sharp, stinging pain exploded in the back of my neck, and I reached up over my shoulder and pulled a dart from my skin. I began to run then, clambering up the ladder and out onto the street, but not before I heard Bruce's last words to me.

"Option number one is _never_ off the table."

**~B~**

Bruce hadn't liked what he'd had to do, not one bit. The look in the boy's eyes, the look of utter agony, it was almost too much to bear. He'd shot him with the dart as a reminder, a warning. He was never safe, not unless he accepted the offer.

Bruce didn't like where this was going, not at all. But he had a duty to the Imperium, and he was to carry it out.

He stood before the Directors, arms crossed and full Bat-glare on. "I did as you asked," he reported. "I got the boy away from the Justice League and delivered your message."

"And…?" Anderson prompted, her voice ringing in the room.

"He refused."

Rivera sighed, shaking his head. "Perhaps Anderson was right. Maybe we should just kill him now. Then we won't have to deal with him and his smartass attitude anymore."

"No, no, no, no," Freeman disagreed. "We still need him. He's our knight on the chessboard, isn't that right, Bruce?"

"Absolutely," Bruce said.

"So, Mr. Wayne," Allen piped up, squirming slightly in her seat to get more comfortable, "how did your backup plan play out? Have you bought us more time?"

Bruce nodded. "I introduced a neurotoxin into his system just before he left. It's nothing lethal, and it should work itself out of his system in another day or two, but until then, he'll be less than a hundred percent. That gives us at least twenty-four more hours to decide."

"I'm still for option number one," Rivera declared.

"I'm not sure if you're aware of this, Rivera," Freeman snapped, "but Timothy Drake is the adopted son of the man standing in front of you giving his report. If you're gonna kill family members of our employees, I suggest you move down to a lower position so it'll be easier to fire you."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," Boyer called out, silencing the argument immediately. "We will pursue option number one only as a last resort. Keep the psychics on the line; at least until we know for sure this situation can be salvaged. Until then, Mr. Wayne here will continue attempts to execute option number three. It's settled."

Bruce inwardly breathed a sigh of relief. Tim wasn't in any more danger…yet. There was still time for them to change their minds.

**~R~**

I slid down the outer wall of the apartment complex, utterly exhausted. Sweat poured down my face, my body trembled like it was twenty below, and I felt so weak that I couldn't even stand. My eyelids fluttered every now and then, and I put my face in my hands. _Bruce…that dart…must've been toxic,_ I thought, finding that it was growing increasingly harder to think.

Time crawled by as I sat there, and I wasn't sure exactly how many minutes went past. I was hungry, cold, tired, and sick, and I didn't really care about much else other than that. The barest flicker of heat began to tickle at my spine, yet my body shivered. Through the ringing in my ears, I barely registered the sound of footsteps approaching me, and when I looked up at the man with the familiar voice who was speaking to me, I had to wonder if I'd started hallucinating.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Tim Drake," Jason Todd said with a smirk. "Long time, no see, huh, kiddo?"

**The End of ****Fallen from Grace**

**To be continued in ****Unforgivable Sins****…**


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